


Silencio

by AkashaTheKitty



Series: Silencio [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Memory Alteration, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 87,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkashaTheKitty/pseuds/AkashaTheKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One late night, hate turns to lust.</p><p>Beta by <b>MissNibbles</b> and <b>MazVN</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> **Graphic made by the lovely Эlиs / Alice! ♥**  
> 

Hermione was walking fast, almost running. She was late and curfew had set in, but she had been unable to resist going to the library to look up a minor detail that had been nagging her, and then, as usual, she had lost track of time. Muttering under her breath, she rushed along the corridors, doing her best to remember everything she read, word by word.

“ _Pickled Murtlap will help resistance to curses, while_ —“ She walked head-first into a body that seemed to be appearing out of nowhere.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going, Malfoy!” she crossly said, while she unsuccessfully tried to walk around him to be on her way.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Potter’s little sidekick, out on her own. After curfew, I might add.” Draco Malfoy smirked unpleasantly, his grey eyes filled with malice. “I think I might have to report that.”

Hermione gave an exasperated and annoyed grunt. “Yeah? And how will you explain being here yourself, then? Just give it up already—you’re even less scary than usual without your cronies.”

There was a flash of anger in his eyes, but then he smirked. “Better to have cronies than to be a sidekick, I should think. Besides, I’m out on an errand for Professor Snape. What’s your excuse? Out saving the world again?” He laughed, clearly thinking this to be a great joke.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to get past him again, only to be slammed into a wall by physical force. Incensed, she reached for her wand, but he smoothly grabbed hold of her wrists and wrenched them above her head. “Not afraid of me, are you?” he sneered. “If you had any sense at all, Mudblood, you would be. I don’t need Crabbe or Goyle, I don’t even need magic, I can easily kill you if I want.”

Hermione stopped struggling for a second to give him a bored, disgusted look. “Then get it over with or let me go. I don’t have time for this!” On the last word, she jerked up her knee, only narrowly missing her target, his precious pure-blooded jewels, as he shifted a leg to protect himself.

Malfoy uttered an oath that would surely have made his mother scrub out his mouth with soap, and, shifting both her wrists into one hand, he flung open the nearest door and almost threw her inside, sending her stumbling for half the length of the room. Before she could gain her footing, he had pulled out his wand and said, “ _Accio_ wand!” taking her only means of defense.

Despite her earlier swagger, Hermione was rapidly becoming nervous. But he wouldn’t actually hurt her, would he? He’d abuse her verbally for sure, even push her about a bit, but he wouldn’t use an Unforgivable Curse right here at Hogwarts… right?

He laughed, seeing her unease. “Not so cocky now, are you, Mudblood?” he said with his usual sneer and slowly began walking towards her, clearly savoring his advantage.

Hermione looked about her for some means of protecting herself or bringing him off-balance, but nothing was readily available. They were in what appeared to be an old classroom with bolted down tables and benches. It would have been completely dark if not for the moonlight streaming in through the large windows occupying the one wall. Swiftly, she ran a few steps, putting a table between them, resulting in Malfoy laughing even harder.

“Oh yes, that’s right, Mugglespawn,” he said sweetly. “That low wooden table will surely repel any curses I might throw at you. Good thinking!”

Hermione felt her face heat up. She knew, of course, that the table wouldn’t help against any curses; she just didn’t want to be within physical distance of him. The way he had so easily overpowered and disarmed her was making her belatedly cautious. She silently sent up a prayer that Harry or Ron would come looking for her, but she knew that they wouldn’t. They would assume, correctly, that she had lost track of time, and they would probably go to bed before looking for her. She considered screaming instead and, upon deeming that a good idea, she opened her mouth to do so.

“ _Silencio!_ ” Malfoy immediately said, rendering her literally speechless. “Now, why didn’t I do that right away? It’s so much nicer when I don’t have to listen to your whiny little voice. You’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are, are you? If you were, you wouldn’t be here alone, with me, silenced and without a wand.” He laughed again.

Hermione made a dash around the room towards the door, just to hear him say “ _Colloportus!_ ” in a fake bored voice. She knew she had lost for now, and she could either continue to run scared, giving him the satisfaction, or she could make a stand. Turning on her heel, she walked back towards him and didn’t stop until her body almost touched his. Defiantly, she looked up into his face, trying to communicate a ‘ _do your worst, scumbag_.’

Malfoy pulled back with a disgusted look on his face. “This isn’t a come-on, filth. Keep your distance.” He then proceeded to brush off his robes, as if she was indeed filthy, and had left dirty marks on him.

Feeling her face flush again, Hermione narrowed her eyes. She could hardly think coherently because of the anger rushing through her. So he didn’t want her to infect him. 

_Because everyone knows that parentage is contagious_ , she thought sarcastically.

Besides, there was nothing wrong with her heritage. Her parents were good, decent, friendly, loving people, who did the best they could for her, and led a calm, productive existence; whereas _his_ parents were sociopathic murderers, Death Eaters. If anything, she should be afraid of him being contagious to her.

Instead, she took another step towards him, smiling bitterly as he retreated again. And then another step. He seemed to realize what was going on when his legs bumped against the teacher’s desk, and then he flushed with first embarrassment and then anger. 

_Such an angry boy_ , she thought, not very placidly herself. 

She stood her ground and laughed soundlessly when he rushed against her, pushing her so she went stumbling a couple of steps back. Next, he would be unlocking the door and running back to his common room, leaving her to go back to bed. He was so predictable.

She was still laughing when he grabbed her wrist and flung her against the desk, very possibly bruising her thigh, and forced her backwards down onto the desk, holding her wrists in the same steely grip from before.

This wasn’t supposed to be his reaction. Her laugh replaced by a frown, she struggled against him to no avail, the only result being that he shifted to keep her legs still with his. “I’m going to have to bathe and burn my clothes now,” he growled. “Might as well make you pay for it!”

Hermione’s eyes grew big and round. He did not mean to—no, he wouldn’t do that. He’d just demonstrated how he loathed being near her and, besides, he’d get tossed out of school and sent to Azkaban. He wouldn’t risk that, not like this. He was just scaring her. Her heart was pounding hard and fast and she was feeling a fluttering in her stomach that she attributed to nervousness. In spite of her own assurances, she started fighting with renewed strength.

“Stop fighting!” he panted, sounding rather breathless from restraining her. He wasn’t as strong as she had feared; this gave her another boost of fighting energy. “I’m not going to—I’m not going to! Why would I want to? Stop fighting!”

It wasn’t so much that he had asked her to stop as the way he had said it. It was very much out of character for him to assure her of anything except her own unworthiness of oxygen. She stopped fighting, her blind panic abating. He was panting heavily, moonlight accentuating the paleness of his features. She opened her mouth to ask if he would let her go, but of course, the Silencing Curse was still in effect. She closed her mouth again and resigned herself to watching him.

His eyes were closed and he seemed to be forcing his breath down. It was odd, she hadn’t put up _that_ hard a fight, she was sure. She was smarter than him, by far, but he was taller and more athletic. He was probably working out to impress dull-witted Slytherin girls like Pansy Parkinson. She sniffed loudly, making her opinion clear on the matter. But, of course, he didn’t know anything about the matter to begin with, so it was really rather redundant.

At the sound, his eyes flew open, startling her in their cold, silvery clarity. They looked… different, somehow, from their usual maliciousness. They looked almost gentle. Hermione’s heart started pounding again, this time for no apparent reason, and she felt heat creeping up her throat and into her cheeks again. She opened her mouth to ask him to release her and his eyes flew to her lips. “ _Let me go_ ,” she mouthed. “ _I won’t tell_.” She really wouldn’t. Somehow, she didn’t want anyone to know.

Slowly, he shook his head. She pushed against him, trying to shove him off her, using only her body. He shuddered and grabbed her wrists even firmer. Her hands were going numb, and she knew she’d have bruises, but she didn’t really care. Somehow, she wasn’t scared anymore, either. She could feel his body against hers, taut and forbidding, yet his heart was beating fast, his breath was shallow, and he wasn’t doing anything but holding her still.

“ _You’re hurting me_!” she mouthed, resulting in a slightly puzzled look on his face, and a loosening of his grip. Yet he didn’t let her go. He seemed to be debating something with himself. He had shifted his legs a little again, to gain better footing, and even though she still couldn’t kick at him, she could push against him using a greater part of her torso. Ignoring the little voice inside of her that urged her to just stay put and see what he would do, she pushed up, resulting in a sharp intake of breath and a groan from him as her abdomen connected with his.

Hermione stiffened, unsure what to do. There was no mistaking that he was aroused; painfully so, from the look of him. He had a look of confused need that she didn’t know what to make of. Clearly, he was as taken aback as she was, and he didn’t know what to do. Especially, she realized, now that she knew. She didn’t fool herself that he hadn’t noticed her reaction. She ignored the unfamiliar feelings that were rushing through her body, unwilling to examine them further, but feeling decidedly warm all over.

Finally, he seemed to be getting a grip. He leaned down towards her and in a voice that was hoarse from his struggle, he sneered, “I hate you!”

Hermione opened her mouth to mouth a reply, just as his mouth crashed down on hers. Unprepared for the attack, she was also unprepared for the jolt that went through her, making her whimper soundlessly. She vaguely noticed that he had let go of her hands, but it didn’t occur to her to get up. She felt his hands going to her sides, and then one hand was cradling her head, pulling her more forcefully against his mouth.

She felt glorious and she knew she shouldn’t. Harry and Ron would hate her if they knew. She quickly thrust that thought aside. She had already sinned, might as well enjoy it before paying the price.

Returning the kiss with an abandon that surprised both of them and made Draco groan again, Hermione caressed his chest through his robes with hands that were only just regaining their feeling. He felt firm, warm, and alive. Not at all like some monster. His heart beat fast and hard against her hand, and he shivered when her hands or her mouth did something he especially liked. No, he felt very much like a human being. She wanted more. She felt him slide her robes up her legs, until they lay pooled around her waist, and he was nestled between her legs. She moaned soundlessly, enjoying the feel of him there. Unconsciously, she tugged at his robes.

He broke their kiss. “No, don’t,” he panted. “I can’t control—“ With a large rip, Hermione had ended the discussion, as she unwittingly tore the robe down the middle with a fierce pull. It was nothing that _Reparo_ couldn’t fix, though. From the surprise on Malfoy’s face, he hadn’t expected her fierceness in going for what she wanted. In fact, something about the way he eyed her suggested that he had expected nothing but a slap and a shove for kissing her. And something suggested that perhaps he might have preferred a slap and a shove to what was probably about to happen.

Hermione hardly noticed, she was looking at his partly revealed chest and boxers and the evidence that he found her attractive in spite of himself. She felt a little embarrassed yet couldn’t help herself, and with another of her now trademark blushes, she reached out to touch the evidence. Malfoy hissed in a breath and the thing jerked under her hand, but he held his ground. She hadn’t realized that she was afraid he’d jump away before she was relieved that he didn’t. She gathered all her courage and looked up into his eyes. They were angry and defensive. Daring her to laugh or ridicule him. She shook her head; she had no intention of doing so.

“Go now, Granger,” he bit out. “Before… before I decide I want to hurt you anyway.” This was such a lame statement that she just stared at him in puzzlement. “Hermione…” he pleaded. She tried to recall if he had ever used her name before. Perhaps even he couldn’t kiss a girl one second and call her names the next. The thought made her feel… something. She smiled at him.

“Damn it,” he almost shouted. “Have you no sense? Get out of here! _Alohomora_!” He had gripped his wand again and unlocked the spell-locked door. “Was that what you were waiting for? Go!” She just looked at him. “What is it you want from me?” he asked, almost pathetically. “I don’t even like you.”

Hermione shook her head again. No, he didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him either, yet… She looked down at his arousal again. It hadn’t abated in the least, and the sight made her heart beat faster and heated her blood. She was curious and something else. She reached out again and stroked the length of him, feeling a satisfied shiver as his head shot back and he closed his eyes on a groan. He wanted to be inside her, and, right now, she wanted to feel him inside of her. She slid down from the desk and as she stood closely before him, she grabbed the hem of her robes and pulled them over her head.

Slightly shivering with partial cold, partial anticipation—and partial dread that he’d simply walk out, laughing—Hermione stood in her underwear, unable to look up into his eyes. At least he hadn’t left yet. He seemed to just stand there, looking at her. Closing her eyes, she tried to compose herself enough to look up, when suddenly she was being lifted back up on the table and being ravished by kisses, while Malfoy struggled briefly to get rid of the remnants of his robe. Sweet madness.

This time there was no hesitation in him; it was as if he was daring her to stop him, to push him away. Nothing could be further from her mind. He really was a very good kisser, at least as far as she could tell. He had a way of making her melt, using his lips and his tongue. She felt her bra come loose and thought wryly that it wasn’t the first time he’d tried opening one of those. Again, an image of Pansy Parkinson, followed by a feeling of resentment, entered her mind, but she quickly tamped it down. It wasn’t up to her to censor what he had done before or would do later. This was in the now. Besides, it was nice he’d _practiced_ first. She almost giggled at that thought.

He tossed her bra aside and looked hungrily at her breasts, before bending down to caress one of them with his lips and tongue, while gently fondling and pinching the other with one of his hands. They weren’t the largest breasts, but they seemed to be met with his approval. She convulsed beneath him as his tongue touched her nipple just right. He repeated the motion, wringing a similar response from her again. She was almost glad he had cursed her, or she would have cried out, alerting the whole school to what was happening. As he switched his attentions, she felt sure that if he kept this up she was going to have a climax long before it was time. She felt feverish and restless and she longed to feel him… She rubbed her abdomen against him and fell back against the desk as she was overcome with sensations.

Malfoy lifted his head and tugged at her knickers. Even though she knew that that was the next step, she felt a little scared. She hadn’t done this before, and she was about to do it with the one person in the world who had least reason or inclination to be gentle with her. For a second, she hesitated, watching as he ripped her underwear, his hands shaking. No, there was no going back. She had to _know_. Then, without preamble, his finger entered her most private place. She was moist enough to make it a very easy penetration. She convulsed so violently, then, that she banged her head on the table, adding stars to the fireworks she was seeing. It felt like nothing she had ever felt before! She panted violently, thrashing, silently begging for more.

Slowly, he started moving his finger, adding another one, and it did nothing to still her need. She wanted more, more, so much more. She was vaguely aware of the haunted look on his face and the concentration with which he regarded her. Wordlessly, she tried to plead with him; “ _Please_ ,” but he didn’t stop fingering her, and even though he seemed to have to soothe himself every once in a while through the fabric of his boxers, he did not release it and enter her. No matter how much she wished he would. His jaw clenched and with sweat beading on his forehead, he was simply watching her in silence.

She knew she couldn’t hold back much longer. He seemed to know where to touch her, and she was sobbing with unrelieved need. He wasn’t going to take her, she just knew it. He’d finger her and then go sleep with Pansy instead. The resentment inside of her grew. She wished she hadn’t started this, but she had. It made it a much better revenge for him. “ _I hate you_!” she mouthed, tears of frustration on her cheeks. He simply nodded and continued, unrelenting.

In the end, her fight was futile. When he caressed her clit with his thumb, one, two, three times, there was nothing she could do, and with a silent scream, she let wave after wave of pleasure wash over her, until she was left a quivering, sated blob. As she regained some awareness of what was going on around her, she saw that Malfoy was a lot paler than he had been before; he was slick with sweat, even though he had hardly been exercising himself, and he was shivering violently in echo to her body’s muted aftershocks.

The idea that he was so affected satisfied her immensely. He didn’t look like he’d last long enough to make it to the hall let alone the Slytherin common room. He made no move to move away from her either; rather, he braced himself on either side of her and bent down to kiss her again. Surprised, she didn’t know whether to react favorably or to punish him by being passive, but soon enough he coaxed a response from her, and her body slowly awoke again.

Malfoy broke the kiss and swallowed hard. “I assume you are a virgin,” he whispered almost inaudibly. “It—it hurts for girls. You are more relaxed now. I can’t wait any longer.” Hermione realized that he had removed his boxers, and they were now both naked, and he was nestled against her curls. He wasn’t going to leave her wanting. Why hadn’t he simply reassured her before? She opened her mouth to ask, but then gasped as he was pushing against her, and she felt the unfamiliar pressure of him stretching her. He part groaned, part growled, as he slowly inched forward.

Hermione wiggled a little, trying to get accustomed to the feeling, but he stayed her hips. “You’re so tight,” he bit out. “You’re going to make me come.” The very idea made Hermione feel like a warm, exciting tide was washing over her. She wiggled a little again, and he stayed her again, this time harder. “Stop it or I’ll hurt you!” he growled. It wasn’t a threat, he was just barely staying in control, and if she teased him anymore, she sensed, he would lose this control and simply strive for his own pleasure. Suddenly, he bent and bit her neck hard, and as she shoved at him and opened her mouth to silently object to the way he was treating her, he surged forward, breaking through her maidenhead.

The pain was blinding, and again she shoved at him, not thinking this pleasant anymore, at all. She just wanted to get away. Get back to her warm, safe bed. Why anyone enjoyed this bit was beyond her, and she was sorry that she had wanted it. “ _Get off! You’re hurting me!_ ” she mouthed.

“I know,” he moaned. “Relax, you’re making it worse.”

_She_ was making it worse? She wasn’t the one poking holes in others with her rigid flesh. “ _Get off!_ ”

He slowly shook his head. “I can’t.” He took a deep breath. “Try and relax, it’ll be over soon.”

The pain _was_ a great deal less than it was before, but it was still uncomfortable. She tried flexing some of the sore muscles. It was definitely getting better. “ _I hate you_ ,” she mouthed sullenly.

It was doubtful he even noticed her latest admission of hate, as he now had his eyes closed and his lips were moving as if reciting something. Hermione strained to hear what he said, but the only thing that she thought she could hear was “Finbar Quigley,” who was, if she remembered correctly, some Quidditch player or other. Why would he be thinking about Quidditch _now_?

Still muttering under his breath, he gently withdrew a little, just to push back in, eliciting a groan from himself. Hermione found that, this time, it didn’t hurt at all. She was still a little sore, but it didn’t bother her the same way anymore, even though she was still uncomfortably stretched. He repeated the movement a few more times, the movements of his lips growing more and more frantic as he groaned and shuddered with each thrust. Hermione also found with each thrust that she seemed to mind less and less, until she was once again thrashing against him, needing release. He moved faster, harder, his control slipping, his need for his own release growing, but she now met him thrust for thrust, until, again, she felt the tides of her release sweeping her away. Relentlessly, he continued, making her come mere seconds later; again, and again, and again. Within what was probably no more than a few minutes, she felt that she had been climaxing on and off for hours, and she was convinced that she couldn’t handle anymore.

With one final thrust, he surged into her, his cry sharply penetrating the silence around them as she felt him pulsate inside her, making her tremble in response. He collapsed on top of her, shivers going through him every few seconds for several minutes.

Hermione felt herself drifting off from sheer exhaustion.

A few minutes later, she awoke with the sharp realization of what she had just done. She had just slept with Draco Malfoy, her best friend’s arch nemesis. Malfoy would be able to use this in so many ways; call her a slut, provoke Harry and Ron to attack him, get both her friends expelled. And her reputation would be ruined; she would be forced to leave Hogwarts as well or endure everyone’s ridicule. Not to mention that Harry and Ron would never speak to her again.

She had failed them all and Draco Malfoy had won.

Her sudden movement seemed to jerk Malfoy awake, as he had been dozing as well. He took one look at her stricken face and jumped back with an oath, the look of resentment on his face not veiled in the least. Her legs shaking, Hermione slid down from the table and began dressing herself, noticing her ruined knickers and the mixed fluids on her thighs with a pang of guilt. Behind her, she heard a sharp “ _Reparo!_ ” as Malfoy repaired his robes. The robes that _she_ had ripped in her wanton need for him to undress. She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. What could she possibly have been thinking? She was not smart. She was stupid. She doubted that there had ever been born a wizard or a Muggle more stupid than she had been tonight.

She ventured a look over at Malfoy. He was now fully dressed and still wore his look of resentment; only now, it was more pronounced and there was an added element of distaste. Any hope she had had of pleading with him disappeared. No, it would be better to pretend she didn’t care. Perhaps if she woke up Harry and Ron and explained, they could be prepared for the attacks from him. Perhaps nobody would believe him. Well, except the Slytherins, but they didn’t matter anyway.

Her robes in order, she made to leave the room and got as far as the door—the unlocked door—before he caught up with her and slammed her into the wall with unnecessary force. “ _Nobody_ hears about this, do you hear?” he whispered ferociously, his face now livid with hatred and fury. “I don’t want anybody to think that _I_ , Draco Malfoy, would even consider touching a filthy Mudblood like _you_!” He thrust her forgotten wand into her hand, slammed the door open and marched out. As an afterthought, he pointed his wand at her mumbling, “ _Finite!_ ” lifting her Silencing Curse, before stomping off.

She stood there, looking after him, with a curious mix of relief and hurt clogging up her throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco stormed down the hall, stomach roiling, and his palms and forehead covered in cold sweat. _No, it hadn’t happened! It couldn’t have!_ But it had. He shuddered and turned quickly against a wall as he retched, his eyes tearing. That helped his stomach settle a little, but now he had a foul taste in his mouth. That was, he had an even _more_ foul taste in his mouth, and his tongue felt like parchment.

He sniffed, cautiously looking both ways to check if anybody had seen him. Of course they hadn’t. Nobody else was out at this hour. Wearily, he waved his wand, getting rid of the evidence of his weakness. “ _Scourgify!_ ” Well, the evidence that could be gotten rid of, anyway. He doubted it would be as easy to get rid of the guilt, the shame, the disgust, and the deliciously sated feeling in his lower belly.

He was doomed if anyone around here found out. They would never let him live it down after all the things he’d said and done over the years. It would be even worse if his father found out, Lucius Malfoy wasn’t known for his love of Muggles or anyone connected with them. Heck, he wished that, somehow, he could have kept himself from finding out, because right now he was poised to giving himself a bloody hard time.

Taking up with the Mudblood, Hermione Granger, of Potter’s inner circle was _not_ acceptable. In fact, if _they_ found out, it would make them question his loyalty and his dedication, something he couldn’t afford with his father already being in disgrace. He wiped his brow.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen, he really hadn’t. He had meant to scare the damn goose, maybe even make her cry if he was lucky. He had meant to mock her, taunt her, punish her for the part she and her friends had played in putting his father in Azkaban. It wasn’t too much to ask, really. Just a little revenge until they all got their just servings.

But, of course, it had backfired.

He hadn’t counted on her feeling so soft and inviting beneath him, her curves stretched against the fabric of her robe. He hadn’t counted on her fighting so hard after he’d threatened her, and he certainly hadn’t counted on becoming turned on from her movements. He’d rather envisioned her pleading with him not to hurt her and that would be the end of it. Silly little Mudblood fool, actually thinking he’d have gone through with it. He wouldn’t have done anything to risk being thrown out of Hogwarts. He never had. He just wanted to see the little bitch taken down a notch or two, to show her that he was superior.

His father was right, though; he showed an embarrassing amount of weakness when it mattered.

His mouth set in a grim line as he walked on again. He’d become aroused fast when she squirmed beneath him, and, at first, he hadn’t let go of her because he didn’t want those arms and legs of hers to connect with him in what would unquestionably have been a very painful way. He was nothing if not good at protecting his own hide. Then he hadn’t wanted to let her go, so he hadn’t. He wasn’t used to doing anything he didn’t want to, and he hadn’t fully comprehended the reasons to make this a first at the time.

And then… and then he had made the most stupid, irreversible mistake in his life. He’d actually slept with the Mudblood. And it had been her first time, just as he knew it would be. Who else would have touched her? He’d bet that Potter was too self-righteous to take what was right under his nose, and Granger _did_ have more brains than to go for a dimwitted twat like the Weasel. She really should, though. Weasel would be dumb enough to have her, and maybe her great-grandchildren would be considered pure-blood, then. Of course, Weasley in himself would dumb the genes down considerably, but that was a sacrifice she should be willing to make for the greater good. Merlin knew that the Weasleys could use some brains injected into their line, no matter what the source.

He was digressing. He closed his eyes as another shudder of self-loathing, mingled with remembered lust, went through him.

The thing that bothered him the most was that he had forgotten who and what she was. He had been as gentle with her as he had with Pansy back when he had slept with her the first time. Hell, even more so, since this time he knew more about how to go about it. He had even tried to distract her from the pain. He groaned loudly as he realized that he’d probably left a mark; it hadn’t been a gentle bite he had administered. Not that she had seemed to appreciate his efforts. He eventually decided that it didn’t matter much, though the thought of leaving his mark on _that_ particular girl seemed wrong. Worse than wrong—sick!

Anyway, if he _had_ to go sleep with Granger, why couldn’t he just have… _taken_ her, instead of… of catering to her needs like some fool who actually cared?

He knew the answer to that one.

 _She_ had seduced _him_ , coming on to him like some little slut, in spite of him making it very clear that he wanted her to go away. She had clouded his mind with lust, leaving him at the mercy of his hormones. He may be popular in his own house, but it still wasn’t every day that the girls took off their clothes for him, inviting him to do as he pleased, and answering his advances with such abandon. Pansy seemed to like him well enough, and they had done it a few times, but it seemed more like she did it because he wanted to than because _she_ wanted to. She just wanted to be his girlfriend.

The Granger girl, on the other hand, didn’t want anything from him. Yet she hadn’t bothered to hide her need. She had reacted with such lack of restraint that he’d just had to see how far he could go, touching her, watching her thrash about, begging him to take her…. Soon, it had been too late to turn back. He’d certainly not had the willpower and, oddly, it had seemed that neither had she. He’d thought girls were supposed to be the sensible ones, the ones that said no and such.

She had even clawed at him, leaving rather deep marks on his back which were still stinging painfully, a couple of them sticking to his clothes. He doubted that she had even realized she was doing it, and he had a strong feeling that he shouldn’t let Pansy see the marks under any circumstances. He hadn’t minded at the time, though, not at all. He had found that there was pleasure in pain, and he had reveled in the sensation.

He felt himself becoming faintly aroused again, and blushed slightly, shooting a look around. He was still alone.

When he had come, it had been one of the most intense experiences in his life. It had drained him and left him almost awestruck. That was, until he realized what he had done and with whom. That realization, however, had taken much longer than it should have.

Bile rose in his throat again and he choked it down. The difference must really only be in the blood, because up until then she had felt just like any witch would feel. She looked the part, too, your everyday witch. She wasn’t exceptionally pretty, nor was she ugly. If she had been a pure-blood or even a half-blood, and definitely _not_ any friend of Potter’s, he wouldn’t really have minded so much. If she had been pure-blood, he might even have asked her to go out with him afterwards. Ok, no might about it, he wouldn’t have passed up the chance for a repeat performance. He even felt a pang of regret, as it was, that it wouldn’t happen again—a pang he quickly tamped down.

What he didn’t understand was _her_ reaction. Sure, she didn’t like him much. She professed she hated him, and maybe she did, although, evidently, not as much as he hated her. She must like _something_ about him to throw herself at him like that. Girls didn’t just sleep with someone unless they wanted something or had _feelings_. Merlin, he hoped she didn’t! Yet, where did she come off, looking at him as though he had just sprouted two extra heads and was about to take the proverbial bite out of her? _He_ was the one who had stepped beneath himself, not her. He was a Malfoy. He came from one of the oldest, purest, most well-respected and powerful families known to the wizarding world. From his point of view, she should be quite honored that he had paid her any attention. Even if the attention had been unplanned and, to a large degree, unwilling.

Reaching the Slytherin common room, he was slightly more composed. There was nothing he could do about it; he just had to forget it ever happened. He hoped that she was keeping quiet about it, or he would definitely make her regret it.

*****

The next day, he found himself rapidly becoming annoyed. Just _where_ did Granger get off? He had been observing her for most of the day to see if she told anyone, and he’d been trying to catch her eye once or twice to remind her what would happen if she slipped, but the little bitch wouldn’t even look at him. She carried on with her goody-goody little friends as if he didn’t exist, as if she hadn’t been wild for him mere hours before. That this was exactly what he had wanted, he chose to ignore. His ego was bruised and he had to take it out on someone. Sneering at Goyle just wasn’t satisfactory. 

Between classes, he spotted the trio in the hallway and decided that it was time to have a little fun. With his two trusted, or rather too-dumb-to-be-true-yet-very-useful-at-times, bodyguards trailing after him, he strode up to Potter & Co.

“Hello there, Potter, Weasel… Granger,” he said almost jovially, noticing with a flash of irritation that she still wouldn’t look at him. “Good show in there, Weasel. It’s good to know you carry on your proud family tradition of incessant inanity, ultimately resulting in your perpetual lack of pecuniary means. It can’t always be easy living up to the Weasley name.” He paused expectantly, mock-waiting for a reaction, but when Weasley just looked at him quizzically, as he’d known he would, he condescended to enlighten him. “I said you were a buffoon in class as well as in life. Really, Weasley, it takes talent to be as talentless as you.”

He smirked and stood back as the Weasley boy predictably flew at him, only becoming a little disappointed that Granger seemed to be able to restrain him before Crabbe and Goyle could have a go at it. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her pressing her body fully against Weasley’s, whispering furiously in his ear. Potter was also trying to calm Weasley down, but he settled for a hand on his shoulder and shooting daggers at Draco with his eyes.

“All right there, Granger?” Draco sneered. “He man enough for you, or could you use a little… extracurricular gratification?” He let his eyes roam her body indolently, even though he couldn’t see a thing through her loose robes. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, having actually managed to follow his meaning.

Hermione blushed, her eyes darkening with anger, and finally she looked at him. “Let me know if you find a _man_ who might qualify,” she said with a scowl. He was impressed. His goons were jeering. She then proceeded to with great difficulty drag both her friends away from him, as they were both incensed at the jab he had taken at their dear un-virginal friend. If only they knew… He wished he could use it to taunt them, but that was, unfortunately, out of the question.

As she threw her frizzy hair back, he noticed a very prominent mark on her neck. He smirked. Crabbe took this as a cue to laugh boisterously, Goyle following suit. Granger turned her head briefly to throw him a contemptuous look.

*****

Life and classes went on as usual, every day more or less the same as they had been before. Draco was bored, really bored. Pansy was still worshipping him, and he let her. After all, who wouldn’t like that? Yet, some days she got on his nerves with her gushing over him, and he avoided her—just a little. If he had wanted someone smothering him every step of the way, he’d have brought his mother to live with him. 

He didn’t sleep with Pansy over the next few days because the scratches on his back hadn’t completely faded yet. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself. What came closer to the truth was that he felt dirty and no amount of bathing seemed to be able to remove the awareness of whom, or rather what, he had been with and how much he’d enjoyed it at the time. Closer to the truth, yes, but not quite hitting the mark. The thing he hated to admit to himself was that when he closed his eyes he fantasized about what had happened. When Pansy approached him, offering him every liberty he wanted, he couldn’t help but notice the difference between her ‘giving it up’ and Granger’s demanding to get it. The thought would immediately arouse him every time it occurred to him, which was more often than he’d like, and he was left with an erection combined with a bad taste in his mouth.

It even seemed to destroy his desire to push people around most days. Very disruptive to his way of life. He couldn’t wait until the scratches disappeared entirely and he _really_ could start pretending none of it ever happened. Without the physical evidence, he was sure it would all fade. He’d be able to be with Pansy and he’d find out that the Granger girl really wasn’t all that.

He was walking down a hallway on his way to the library one day after school, deep in his own thoughts, minding his own business, and bumping into a third-year, because she just happened to be in the way of the path he’d chosen, when someone yelled, “Hey! Malfoy!”

Draco stopped in his tracks upon seeing who had addressed him and placed a smirk on his face. “Hello, Potter. Lonely without your little friends, are you? Did they finally get sick of that fat scarred head of yours and ditch you?”

“I was just thinking,” said Potter, coming towards him, “about what Voldemort has had your Mummy do lately.”

Draco winced at the name and smiled insincerely. “Sounds to me like you’re suggesting Mother is under the _Imperius_ curse. I can promise you, she is not.”

Potter shook his head. “No, she isn’t. She chooses to be Voldemort’s tool, doesn’t she? Doing his dirty work, cleaning up after your father, offering him her only son. Tell me, Malfoy…” He walked even closer. “How does it feel to know that your mother loves her own hide more than you?”

“You know nothing about what you speak of!” Draco snarled. “At least Mother cared enough to stay alive instead of fighting a losing battle. Tell me, Potter, how does it feel to know that _your_ Mummy would rather die than look at your ugly little face one more time?”

The look on Potter’s face was priceless.

Draco pressed on. “Not that she would have lived long, anyway, a filthy thing like her. I suppose that’s why you like to surround yourself with Mudbloods and blood traitors, to remind you of Mummy and Daddy. Does it work? Are they dirty enough for you?”

“Let’s have it out, Malfoy,” Potter bit out. “Right here, right now!” He pulled out his wand.

Draco jumped back, quickly drawing his own wand. “I hope I get to watch when he kills the lot of you!” he announced.

“Is that so?” came a soft voice from behind him to the left. Draco jerked to see Granger standing there, cold eyes and wand pointed at him, just as Potter yelled, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” disarming him. Crap. He decided to brazen it out for once. Granger had seen enough weakness from him to last a lifetime.

“Hiding behind the Muggle now, are we?” he asked Potter. “You always did seem the type to hide behind others, waiting for a chance to act the hero. And good choice! The world won’t be missing her, when somebody finally manages to off her.” He ignored the furious look on Potter’s face and looked at the bruise on Granger’s neck—fading, but still visible. “What’s this, then?” he asked, taking a step closer to her as if to examine the mark, causing her to raise her wand and her chin at him. “Did someone already try? I’d applaud him, but seeing as he failed, it’s hardly worth the effort, is it?”

Draco ignored whatever Potter was angrily spewing behind him, focusing on Granger. She was about to make a comeback, her eyes narrowed angrily, when an unmistakable cold voice from behind Draco and Potter said, “What is going on here?”

Draco couldn’t help but let his smirk widen and turned to see Professor Snape looking at Potter as disapproving as ever. Behind him, he more felt than saw Granger hurriedly hiding her wand. “He attacked me, sir,” he said in his best offended voice. “I was merely minding my own business and then he attacked me with his wand.”

The Professor narrowed his eyes on Potter. “Twenty points from Gryffindor and a week’s detention, starting now.” When Potter looked as if he might object, Snape merely raised an eyebrow and he fell silent. Draco was downright grinning now.

“And Miss Granger?” the Professor asked, referring to Granger, who seemed to be trying to hide behind Draco. “Did she in any way aid Mr. Potter?”

Draco considered that for a second, and then shrugged. “No, professor. Well, unless yelling at him to stop getting in trouble is considered aiding?” He was well aware of the surprised look on Potter’s face, and he simply leered back.

Snape nodded, accepting this. “Move it along, Potter,” he said, pushing him ahead of him. On his way past Draco, Potter shot him a very dirty look but proceeded to walk obediently.

“Now, ‘atta boy,” Draco mumbled just loudly enough for Potter to hear. He ignored him, as did Professor Snape, but Draco didn’t miss the slight stiffening of the other boy’s back, proving that he’d heard it.

Draco hadn’t felt that good in days. He reveled in the feeling for a few seconds and then sighed and turned to the matter at hand. Granger. “I believe the words you are looking for are ‘thank you’,” he provided helpfully, when she was just staring at him darkly.

That seemed to snap her out of it. She gave a disgusted grunt and then turned on her heel to go, his arm shooting out to stop her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “This wasn’t a free pass.”

She gave him her best exasperated look. “So what, pray tell, am I supposed to do to deserve this honor?”

“Saying ‘thank you’ would be nice for a start.”

“No.” Her face was stony and determined.

“No?” he asked, not really that surprised.

“No. I’d rather be in detention every day for the rest of the year than say ‘thank you’ to you _once_!”

“Ouch,” he said casually. “Be careful, Granger, you might hurt my feelings.” 

She snorted at that. 

“You know,” he continued just as casually, “those vulgar sounds you keep making really do nothing to make you more agreeable.”

“ _What_ is it you _really_ want?” she finally exploded to his immense satisfaction.

“Well, first of all, I don’t want to have this discussion in the hallway,” he said, looking around him. “There must be some place more private.”

She suddenly looked at him with great apprehension, slowly trying to move away from him.

“Oh, come off it, Granger,” he said irritably. “I don’t need _you_ for that.” He ignored the fact that his own pulse had picked up at the hint and all too familiar images flashed through his head.

“Then what?” she shot back, slightly blushing.

“In here,” he said, dragging her into the nearest room, letting her go, as she yanked her arm away from him. It was another schoolroom. Funny how the place was filled with them. He briefly considered locking the door, but decided against it, as anyone who would try to open it would undoubtedly think they were doing something they shouldn’t. Which they weren’t. “Now,” he said. “Why did you do it?”

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Do what?”

“Why did you throw your virginal Mudblood self at me?” he asked patiently, not really realizing until now how much that question had bothered him.

“Oh. That.” She looked everywhere but him. “I don’t know.”

Aha! She acknowledged that it was her fault. “Was it because you have a crush on me? Believe me, I’d understand,” he sarcastically said.

That got her attention back onto him. “No,” she clearly stated. “If that was the case I should have killed myself rather than…” She looked away again, turning pink.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that we’re all sorry that that isn’t the case, then,” he coldly replied.

Again, he’d managed to rile her enough to make her look at him. “How about you?” she smugly asked.

“Me?” He frowned, not getting her point.

“Yes, you were there too, as far as I remember.”

Now there was a thought, erasing memories. He’d have to look into that. “I can’t be expected to answer for what I do when a girl strips down in front of me!”

“Oh, so _you_ can’t be held accountable, but _I_ can?”

Relieved that she’d finally gotten the point, he said, “Exactly!”

“You’re such a spoiled prat,” she angrily shot back at him. “You are just as responsible for what happened as I am!”

“Me?” he said a little too loudly. “What did _I_ do?”

“For one thing, you pulled me into a dark, secluded room—“

“That doesn’t necessarily lead to—“

“And then,” she cut across, “you proceeded to lie down on top of me!”

He had done that. He blushed. But she was getting it all wrong, damn it, it hadn’t been like that! “I was just trying to give you a bloody scare; you should have just pushed me away.”

“I. _TRIED_.” She was practically livid now. “I even asked you to let me go, remember?”

Unfortunately, he did. “Fine,” he impatiently said. “I did that. But then I got off you, and I told you to leave, how do you explain _that_?” He knew he had her now.

“Why didn’t _you_ leave?” her voice was deceptively calm.

He even had an answer for that. “I was in no condition to. Somebody might see me.”

She made another disgusted noise. “Please, your robes were easily fixed.”

Draco leaned closer and in a theatrical whisper said, “It wasn’t my robes I didn’t want them to see.”

“Then wh—“ Realization dawned on her face and her mouth set in a silent ‘O’. Then she shook her head. “Nobody would have seen you, anyway,” she scoffed. “It was way too late for that, and you know it!”

“Do you really think I would risk anyone knowing that a Muggleborn had done that to me, no matter how slim the possibility?”

Granger gaped. “You are just unbelievable!”

“Well, believe it!” he said.

“So you think that just because you had an erection,” she said, Draco wincing at the graphical reminder of his state, “that exonerates you of all guilt?”

“Pretty much,” he confirmed.

“Well,” she said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t. There were numerous other ways you could have handled the situation, you could have—“

“Wanked in front of you?” he suggested. “Yes, I’ve always imagined my dignity dying a slow and painful death like that.”

“Waited it out,” she said as if he hadn’t made his crude interruption.

“Here’s the thing, Granger,” he said in his most patient voice. “When a girl is naked in front of you, touching you… waiting it out isn’t really an option anymore.”

The blush crawling up her cheeks told him that she now, finally, got his point. “Still…” she weakly said.

“Whatever, Granger. You didn’t answer my question. Why did _you_ do it? You obviously hadn’t an erection, and your robes were whole.” She winched at the repeated reminder that she had ripped his clothes apart, while he had done no such thing. Good! Trying to put it on him, indeed.

“I honestly don’t know,” she bit out. “I was so angry and then…” She shook her head. “I guess it were hormones making us forget just _what_ ,” she said the last word with a world of scorn and loathing, “we were doing.”

Hormones. Yes. Why not? It was the best explanation so far, although it wasn’t entirely satisfactory. But why did _she_ have to sound so loath about it all? “Don’t try that one on me,” he warned. “I know you enjoyed yourself plenty.”

With a new blush on her face, she raised her chin, looking defiantly at him. “So did you.”

“I’m a bloke.”

“So?”

“Blokes will have sex with anything and still enjoy it. Even, occasionally, Mudbloods.” He hadn’t actually thought of that before. Good argument. Kudos to her for making him think of it.

Granger rolled her eyes. “Oh, that is such piffle! Who says a girl can’t enjoy herself just as much with whoever she wants?” And on an afterthought, “Or doesn’t want?”

“They can,” he conceded. “If they’re sluts. Are you a slut, Granger?” he asked in a deceptively gentle voice.

“Apparently no more than any man,” she snapped. “Are we done here? I have more important things to do, like watching Crookshanks chase his own shadow.”

“That _would_ be the most important thing you had to do, wouldn’t it?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I daresay you should thank me for helping you get rid of your virginity. It wasn’t bound to happen this decade or the next, was it?” He watched as that one hit home, her eyes becoming suspiciously shiny.

“You aren’t going to start blubbering now, are you?” he asked disgustedly. “I’m really not in the mood for all the—” He was interrupted at her launching at him

“You idiot!” she shrieked, her fists hammering at his chest and stomach and anywhere she could reach. “You flaming moron! Filthy pig! Bastard!”

Despite of her fists actually hurting him, Draco couldn’t help but laugh, warding off the worst of her blows. He did so quite merrily until she took a shot at his groin, which sobered him instantly. “There now,” he said, catching a hold of her flailing arms. “No dirty tricks.”

“Why not?” she contemptuously asked, her eyes still shiny, but her emotions better in check now. “It seems to be what you excel at.” Her face was flushed in a way that uncomfortably reminded him of when she had been beneath him.

“Well, yes,” he conceded. “But you’re supposed to fight for the power of ‘good’ and… Muggles and… Hufflepuff.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Making sure that you are never able to procreate _would_ be for the greater good!” she matter-of-factly stated.

He stood stock-still for a moment and then roared, “CRAP!”

Granger winced. “That remark couldn’t have come as that much of a surprise for you,” she muttered sarcastically, trying to get free as his hands were now clenching her upper arms painfully.

“Granger,” he said, uncomfortably intense. “Did you use a protection spell?”

“When?” she said, trying to wrench free, but being largely ignored.

“When do you _think_?” he yelled, shaking her a little. “Did you use a protection spell?”

Puzzled, she scowled at him for handling her like a rag doll and yelling at her to boot. “No, of course not. You didn’t give me a chance. Besides, if I had, don’t you think that, oh, I don’t know, it would have worked, maybe?”

“What?” he shook his head, uncomprehending. “I mean a _protection_ spell.”

Slowly, it dawned on her. “Oh. You mean like a contraceptive? No. Could you perhaps let go of me now?”

He let go as if burned. “What do you _mean_ ‘no’? Everyone knows that’s the girl’s responsibility!”

Hermione flushed from anger. “You really have to let go of some of your stereotypes soon,” she said, her voice barely civil. “There are several reasons I couldn’t, apart from the very obvious fact that you had me silenced. Number one; I don’t know it.”

“What do you mean you don’t know it?” he asked, conveniently ignoring the part about him silencing her.

“They don’t teach it until you’re seventeen.”

“I know that. But that didn’t stop Pansy—” he faltered a little from the menacing glint in her eyes, but then gleefully resumed. “It hasn’t stopped Pansy Parkinson from knowing it. She’s performed it every time I’ve slept with her.” It was, of course, completely uncalled for to stress that last bit, but he felt it added a nice touch.

“Do NOT compare me to that Slytherin whore!” she very uncharacteristically hissed.

“Tut-tut, such language,” he said. “But I will, you see, because she’s my Slytherin whore, you’re my Gryffindor whore, and all I have left is to find a Ravenclaw whore. There can be no mention of Hufflepuff, of course.” He noticed with satisfaction that she was almost shaking with anger. So, she really didn’t like Pansy. Good to know! “So, explain to me again why you didn’t know it.”

“I did not need to know it.”

“Well, obviously you did.”

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“I don’t know it.”

“You just said Pansy has been performing it when sleeping with you!”

“Do you honestly believe my mind is on the spell then? Perhaps that’s why they trust the girls to do it.”

“Big fat oaf,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. We didn’t need it.”

Relief didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling. “Oh, good! So you’re using some…” He did a vague wave of his hand. “Muggle-thing?”

“No.”

“NO? You’d better have some really good explanation as to why you didn’t feel it was needed, because I personally won’t welcome the bastard by-product of some mad encounter I had with some Mudblood!” he growled furiously.

Not to mention that he was likely to get quite literally and irrevocably killed if it happened. The thought hit him like a rock, and he felt the sickening sensations of horror and panic spreading from his stomach.

“If you would just shut up, I could tell you!” she harshly said. “According to _Teen Trials and Tribulations at Hogwarts_ —”

“What?”

“Shut up!—there were some problems with… that aspect some years ago. A few students and even one teacher had to leave quite suddenly. So, in the end, they decided to cast a spell on the school, preventing anything from being conceived.”

 _That_ was her big reason not to worry? He was dead. Groaning, he leaned against the wall. “Granger, did it ever occur to you that if it was true somebody would know?”

She frowned at that. “Somebody _does_ know. I bet Dumbledore does.” At his pointed look, she rolled her eyes. “So, you’re saying that because Pansy doesn’t know, it’s not true? In that case, the world isn’t round and books aren’t for reading.”

“Don’t you think _somebody_ would know?” he asked more heatedly, ignoring her jab at Pansy, which was quite frankly very accurate. “That there’d be a rumor? Whispering in the corners?”

“No,” she calmly said. “It’s a secret. Or it was, until I found that book. When Madam Pince saw me with it, she confiscated it, and I haven’t been able to find it since. They don’t want us to know; it’s a morality issue.”

“Well, we’ll know, won’t we,” he groaned miserably, closing his eyes to block her out, and leaning his head on the wall. He was shaking. He felt the by now all too familiar bile rise in his throat once again, and he had to swallow hard, repeatedly. He wondered how many pieces they’d find him in if his fears came true. He supposed that depended on who got to him first; _them_ or his father… but then, after some thought, he concluded that it would be pretty much the same either way.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she airily said. “There’s always options.”

“Like what,” he said with his eyes still closed.

“We don’t need to discuss that, because even if there wasn’t a charm—which there is—and there was a risk—which there wasn’t—then the risk would be exceedingly small from just _once_ and in that particular part of my cycle!”

Her words calmed him a little. He didn’t know what she was talking about with the ‘cycle’, but she was right. No reason to fret. Yet. And if he was unlucky… well, he could always hope she fell down some stairs. Perhaps even help her to it. That thought cheered him immensely.

Without warning, the door opened to let in a small gaggle of Ravenclaw girls. He smirked, thinking about what he’d just been saying earlier about getting himself one. These seemed a little young, though.

“Oh, sorry,” one of them said, blushing. “We thought it’d be empty.”

“It is,” Granger assured them as she went around and out the door.

Wait. What? Since when did she get to decide when he would be done talking to her? He followed her out. “I wasn’t done,” he informed her as he caught up with her.

“Oh, what could you _possibly_ still have to say?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I mean it,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Don’t you go get all confessional neither with your friends now nor with some bloke who’s the next to take a poke at you and discovers that the cherry is popped.” He watched her for another satisfying reaction at the mention of her lost innocence, but she disappointed him by merely looking resigned.

“Oh, what is it to you?” she said, exasperated. “I mean, telling Harry would—” She stopped up, eyes wide, clasping her mouth.

“Did you really think I don’t know I could use this?” he asked, a little amused.

“Then why don’t you?” she asked, looking a little frightened that he just might.

“I would love to, I would really love to. To see his face when he heard I’d shagged his littl— Ow!” She had punched him quite forcefully on the exact same spot she had pummeled him earlier. “Watch it!”

“Don’t use that word,” she said, ice dripping from her voice. “And answer the question!”

“What? Shag? Ow!” She had punched him again. He seriously considered restraining her again. “Stop that already!” he bellowed, frowning and rubbing his chest.

“Answer!” she demanded.

He considered. Fine, it wasn’t an unreasonable request. “I have a lot more to lose than to gain.” That was the simple version.

“What?” she asked. “Pansy Parkinson’s affections?”

He grinned, delighted that the thought of Pansy annoyed her. “Among other things…”

“Ah, don’t worry,” she said. “You are one thing I definitely wish upon her!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You wish the best shag you’ve ever had upon her?”

She lashed out at him again, but this time he was prepared and caught her, using her own momentum to get her against the wall. He was prepared to tell her just what he thought of violent Mudblood girls, when suddenly he noticed the feel of her subtle curves pressing against him. His pulse speeding up, he looked at her soft, inviting lips and was leaning in to claim them, when she whispered something inaudible. 

“What?” he croaked, not quite willing to be distracted.

“I said,” she said more clearly, “do you really want to be kissing a Mudblood right here in the middle of the hallway?”

Reality dawning on him, he jumped back, once again filled with self-loathing and thoroughly disgusted that it took so little for him to get sidetracked. Without a word, he turned and stormed back to his common room as if chased by the Dark Lord himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione was left standing in the hallway, clutching the wall, and shaking with a torrent of emotions. For a few moments, she didn’t know which one of them to go with. She felt hurt to an extent that an almost physical numbness was spreading. She was disappointed that he had been so easily disparaged, and she was confused at her own disappointment. Finally, she latched on to anger, which seemed the safest thing to feel at this point. Having decided on the proper emotion, she grasped for some thoughts to sustain it.

How _dare_ he treat her like this? How _dare_ he repeatedly abuse and humiliate her and then turn around and clearly try to pick up where he’d left off? Her legs really wouldn’t stop shaking. What if he was right? What if she really was nothing more than a slut eager to accept any and all advances? She closed her eyes. What if she was forever doomed to tolerate abuse from the likes of him in order to satisfy her own wanton needs? Even now, no matter how hard she tried to block it, she could vividly recall her answer to all of his advances, and she felt anger and disgust at herself for being so weak.

Tears pooled in her eyes. It didn’t matter what she was or how she’d acted, she had still deserved to have a first time with someone who wouldn’t take the gift and laugh at it before completely destroying every good memory there might have been about it. Why couldn’t he just have left well enough alone? She had done everything he asked; she hadn’t even looked at him in class. Nothing more had needed to come of it.

Yet, for some reason, he seemed to be much more vicious than he’d ever been before. Attacking poor Ron when, fine, he hadn’t been very clever lately. But to act like that was simply despicable. She had been sure Malfoy had simply wanted to demonstrate that nothing had changed until he’d made that remark.

_‘All right there, Granger? He man enough for you or could you use a little… extracurricular gratification?’_

The words had hit her like a blow to the stomach. She hadn’t dared look at Harry or Ron for fear of what they might see betrayed in her eyes. Instead she had dragged them both away, cooing her usual refrain of “ _he’s not worth it,_ ” and “ _nobody listens to him, don’t let him get to you,_ ” while hearing him and his coarse friends laugh at them. She had thought, then, that her humiliation had been complete. Hah. Little had she known.

She sniffed and pushed herself away from the wall. _Get a grip, Hermione_ , she thought wiping her eyes. _It’s not like you’re the first person ever to sleep with a bastard. Not even as a first time. At least, you never loved him, and he never lied to you about what he thought of you._

She hadn’t really thought about her first time before this. She hadn’t planned it or anything. She had just assumed that it would _not_ be like this. She had taken a lot of things for granted. For starters, she had thought that the boy would have liked, if not loved, her. She had also thought that the boy would have had the decency to not have called her a slut afterwards. And, finally, she had thought that the boy would have looked on her with smiles and warmth instead of sneers and arrogance.

She knew it was her own fault for choosing _him_ to begin with. It had been a rash and stupid thing to do. Still, she had just hoped for a little more respect or at least a little less disgust. The way he treated her made her feel worthless and that in turn made her angry, because she _knew_ she deserved better—she did! Didn’t she?

Feeling thoroughly downtrodden, Hermione walked up to the dormitories, only stopping at the Fat Lady to give the password, before walking on until she entered her shared bedroom. No one was there yet; it was still much too early. She was feeling very relieved to have the privacy, not wanting to talk to anyone just now.

Dragging her feet slightly, Hermione went over to the enchanted mirror, where her mirror image smiled and waved back at her, her nose and eyes a little red. She looked at her face, which frankly wasn’t a very pretty sight right now. She’d always envied those girls who could cry prettily instead of getting all splotchy and red-nosed as she did. Her mirror image stuck her tongue out at her. _Yes, I feel the same way_ , Hermione thought wryly.

Normally, she didn’t think her face ugly. Not really. It was just so very plain. Her features were even but unremarkable. Her teeth were a clean white and even. Dental hygiene was important, after all.

Her eyes were brown. She tried to think up some nice adjectives for them to make them prettier somehow. She did come up with a few. Chocolate. Cinnamon. Amber. Walnut. Yet her eyes were really just… brown. She supposed the color was all right, though. It didn’t remind her of anything icky, which was always an upside. She decided to let it go.

The hair framing her face was her most damning feature. It didn’t have some exciting exotic color and certainly no luster to speak of. It was a dull, common shade of brown, and it always looked dry and frizzy. She pulled at a lock, sighing. Nope, no boy would fall for that. So far, all she had to rely on was her brains and everyone knew how _that_ feature was very important with teenage boys. Not.

‘ _Blokes will have sex with anything and still enjoy it. Even, occasionally, Mudbloods._ ’

Wincing at the reminder, Hermione smoothed her hands over her robes, taking in her body. She couldn’t really see anything. “Turn around, please,” she instructed her mirrored self, who giggling turned around, strutting and making poses. It still wasn’t any good. Sighing, she opened her belt and removed her robes. The mirror image just gaped at her and shook her head. “Take them off,” Hermione instructed. Again the mirror image shook her head. “I’ll be standing here like this until you do,” Hermione warned and finally, looking apprehensive, her mirror image took off her robes.

Hermione let her hands run over her breasts, ignoring how her mirrored self blushed furiously and scowled at her. Her breasts were as unspectacular as the rest of her. They were small, round and firm. She had had no idea just how sensitive they could be until the other night. Letting her hands run lower, she reached her belly. It was soft and gently rounded, not completely flat. She let her hands slide down over her hips, taking herself in fully. She really wasn’t at all like some girls she’d seen around with their belts snugly tightened to accentuate their tiny waists and generous curves, was she? Hermione didn’t really mind, but…

_I wonder what he thought about my body._

The question shocked her to the core. What did she care what he thought? He’d more or less said that he’d only been with her because he didn’t want anyone to see that he was aroused. _This_ , by the way, had not been her doing in the first place. And _he_ had then kissed _her_. She might for some obscure reason, that eluded even herself, have liked and responded to it, but the fact remained: He had started it. He had then proceeded to purposefully put it all on her, making her feel like she had jumped his unsuspecting, innocent bones. That _conceited git_! 

_Oh please_ , she thought. _You’re not all that, Malfoy!_

No, he wasn’t all that. He wasn’t the most handsome boy in school, and he was far from being the nicest. His charms were debatable, too, as were his ethics. Yet, Hermione wasn’t enough of a hypocrite to claim that she found him unattractive, not after what had happened. She was willing to own her own part in it unlike _someone_. She scowled at her mirror image, who was more than willing to glare back at her.

‘ _Why did you throw your virginal Mudblood self at me?_ ’

Hermione bit back her renewed irritation. That really had been a legitimate question, although ‘ _why did you sleep with me?_ ’ would have sounded a lot nicer. So… why _had_ she done it?

Fighting her own unwillingness to delve into this topic, she tried discerning her own motives. It wasn’t that he had been irresistible; she had already covered that bit. It had just been so… Hermione searched for the word. _Powerful_. Yes, that was how it had felt. It had been too powerful for her not to explore. It hadn’t been very wise of her, no, but wishing she hadn’t done it didn’t make it so.

So what if he blamed her for it? He had been perfectly capable of stopping at any time he wished. It wasn’t _her_ fault that he was a coddled, selfish boy who didn’t know how to tell himself no!

Reaching this conclusion, Hermione angrily put her robes back on, and turned to the mirror to adjust it, only to realize that her mirror image had fled. Sighing deeply, she reminded herself to bring an unenchanted mirror back to Hogwarts the next time she went home.

*****

The next morning, Hermione went down to breakfast as usual and, as had been her habit of late, she avoided looking at the Slytherin table. Sliding in next to Harry, she heard Ron say, “… that _git_!” and concluded that they had been talking about yesterday. Oh, goodie.

She ignored their ranting about the evil that was Malfoy, absent-mindedly picking at some toast. When Harry leaned forward for some more juice, however, she noticed something that she hadn’t noticed before.

“Have you been working out?” she asked, eying his arm.

Harry stopped in mid-movement. “What?”

“Have you been working out? You know, exercising to impress the girls?” Harry and Ron exchanged looks. Hermione took a closer look at Ron. “You too!” she said. He gave a start.

“We haven’t been doing anything out of the ordinary,” Harry said. “Just Quidditch.”

Hermione looked at them uncomprehending. “That’s all done by magic, though, isn’t it?” she asked.

Both boys laughed at her. “And how do you think we stay on?” Ron asked. “Takes some work, you know.” Ron and Harry both shook their heads uncomprehendingly at her sudden interest in their fitness.

“Hmm,” was all Hermione replied, already retreating back into her reverie. So that was why Malfoy had been fit, pure and simple – he’d been playing Quidditch. Not that it mattered at all, because it didn’t. So what if he hadn’t been working out to try and impress silly Slytherin girls? Playing Quidditch was an even better way of achieving the same end, it seemed—there being the added popularity and all.

It was hard for her to bash him for playing Quidditch, though, when her two friends were doing the same. But it _wasn’t_ the same, she was sure. It was just the same means to completely different ends. Whatever the ends were. Oh, she knew what his ends were: evil, shallow womanizing. Trying hard to ignore her own flawed logic, she mulled over this for a while.

Ron’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “So Malfoy landed you in detention for a whole week, did he?” Hermione jerked, her heart skipping a beat, before realizing he was addressing Harry.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “The odd thing, though, is that Hermione was there and Malfoy told Snape that she didn’t do anything.”

“What?” Ron straightened from his eggs and looked at Hermione frowning. “Why would he do _that_?”

They were both looking at her. She wasn’t prepared for this. “Um…” she said, stalling for time. “He-he needed help on his Transfiguration homework.” She sighed with relief as they seemed to accept this with mutters of “ _of course_ ” and “ _smartest girl in school_ ”. Yes, she was, wasn’t she? She looked down on her food, losing the desire even to pick at it. She could probably do with a diet anyway.

“So _that’s_ why you were alone with him in that room!” Ron said, beaming. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Hermione’s head shot up, red spots on her cheeks. “Listening to gossip now, Ron? Don’t you have anything better to do?” She felt a certain satisfaction quickly followed by a sense of guilt when he blushed and avoided her eyes. She _had_ been alone with Malfoy and none of it had been exactly innocent.

“Wait, you were alone with him, Hermione?” Harry asked, looking concerned. “You know that’s not very wise if he’s a—”

“Oh, get off it!” Hermione snapped, forgetting everything about feeling guilty. “He isn’t. He’s just some spoiled prat who talks big.” She pushed her food away and got up, meeting a pair of amused grey eyes at the Slytherin table, as she did so. Great, just great. She bared her teeth viciously at him and stormed off, very much wishing to curse every male in her year.

*****

A few weeks went by with nothing untoward happening. Hermione took great care to not be caught in a position, compromising or otherwise, where she would have to talk to Malfoy. Hogsmeade weekend came and went. Hermione noticed that Malfoy went about his business much as he had before, Parkinson never many steps away from him and his goons. Fortunately, he seemed to grow bored with taunting her, and so, eventually, he stopped doing it, allowing her to finally drop her guard and relax again.

Exactly twenty-six days after their last private encounter—not that she was counting—Hermione was dawdling alone at the library. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go back to her common room, exactly; it was more of a lack of enthusiasm. She knew what would meet her back at the common room: an excited Harry giving her more of his ‘evidence’ that Malfoy was a Death Eater. Even if it hadn’t reminded her of what they had done, she would still have been annoyed at the way he was going on about it. She knew she couldn’t stay here much longer, though; Madam Pince would throw her out in a few minutes.

Sighing, Hermione gathered her books and slowly began the walk back to the Gryffindor common room. It was late; when she got there, she could just say she was tired and go to bed. She wasn’t really tired, though, and going to bed sounded frightfully dull.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice anyone else being in the corridor before someone grabbed her, dragging her into what looked like a caretaker’s closet, holding a hand over her mouth. She just had time to think how stupid it had been of her not to be more alert in these times, when the perpetrator spoke.

“Don’t scream,” he softly said. “It’s me. Took your time getting here, didn’t you?”

_Malfoy._

What did he want from her this time? Was he just bored and needed someone to harass again? She wouldn’t stand for it this time and she’d make damn sure he knew it.

“What do you want?” she aggressively asked, when he slowly removed his hand, pulling the door shut, so only a sliver of light entered.

“You,” he murmured as he bent to kiss her.

_Wait… What?_

That was about as much coherent thinking as registered before she discovered the feel of his warm, soft lips on hers. Just the tiniest brush made her moan with an almost forgotten longing. Seemingly encouraged by this, he deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to penetrate her mouth.

Her knees growing decidedly weak, Hermione grabbed an almost desperate hold of his shoulders to keep her up, and, appearing to understand, he hoisted her up, wrapping her legs about his waist and pinning her to the wall.

She moaned again, having now completely forgotten everything but the feeling of him kissing her, pressing his hardness against her softness. His one hand was on her thigh, steadying her, while his other hand slid up to cup one of her breasts. When he began gently kneading her through her robes, it was pure bliss.

She let her hands slide up his neck and into his hair, where she entangled them, grabbing hold, keeping his head in place. He made a low sound of approval in his throat that did strange things to her insides, and the kiss turned hard and hungry.

_Wasn’t there some reason why I shouldn’t…?_

Frowning in confusion, Hermione broke the kiss, turning her head away. Unperturbed, Malfoy started kissing and nibbling her neck, making Hermione’s pulse soar as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot.

“Wait,” she groaned, trying to gather her wits as he, deciding that he liked that particular spot on her neck, started nibbling at it. When he proceeded to bite a little harder, everything went black for a second.

Malfoy only shushed her gently. “Don’t think so much,” he breathed against her pulse. “Just feel.” He then slid a hand inside her knickers and, with agonizingly slow movements, touched her everywhere but the one place she longed to be touched. She squirmed against him and his breath labored, but he continued to just tease her.

“Please,” she panted, thrusting more forcefully against him.

He smiled as if he had won a small victory, and then he kissed her again, swallowing her cry, as he touched her just right. Hermione desperately needed an outlet for her own need, so she returned his kiss forcefully, making him groan and press harder against her.

She thought she was going to die when his finger entered her, and, judging from the shudder going through his body, he had much the same feeling. How could she have forgotten how good this felt? Nothing she had ever done to herself, when she was lying alone in bed at night, could possibly compare to this.

“I need…” he choked out.

She nodded. Surely he didn’t think she would stop? Her thoughts were nothing but a blur of a hot, desperate longing, eager to be fulfilled.

Suddenly, before they could go any further, his head shot up, he turned to face the door, and his entire body froze.

“What—“ Hermione asked, but he clamped his hand over her mouth and then signaled for her to be quiet. Now she could hear it too; muffled steps. Someone was approaching and trying to be quiet about it. There was some shuffling about outside the closet’s door.

Hermione’s heart beat fast and hard from fear of discovery, the lust temporarily pushed in the background. She was going to lose her prefect status at the very least if she was discovered like this, in a closet, snogging, and… worse.

“He’s not here,” said an annoyed voice Hermione knew all too well. _Harry_. From the frown on Malfoy’s face, he’d recognized the voice as well. He had taken half a step back, letting her slide down to stand on her own feet, and he was now listening intently.

“Are you sure you read the map right?” asked another voice. _Ron_. Hermione shot another quick glance at Malfoy, whose frown had deepened.

“Yes, take a look at it yourself! Malfoy, fourth floor. Right where we are now!” Harry’s voice insisted.

Oh, this was no good at all! Now Malfoy knew about the map, and why didn’t they think to look in the closet? Malfoy looked really angry now. She couldn’t really blame him; who liked being followed around and having their fun interrupted?

“Yes, but look at this bit,” Ron pointed out. “It says Hermione should be here too.” There was a slight pause. “You don’t think she’s still tutoring him, do you?”

Hermione looked away as she felt Malfoy glancing at her. Well, she had had to tell them _something_ , hadn’t she?

“No…” Harry mumbled. “But something is definitely off. Right. Well. We won’t find anything here, so we might as well go back.” There was some more shuffling and then their steps receded.

“How come—” Hermione began. 

“Bedazzling hex on the door.”

She nodded. Of course. This had been planned carefully, hadn’t it? She didn’t know why it bothered her so much that he had made that much of an effort to make sure they weren’t discovered, but it did. She would have been mortified if anyone, especially her friends, had caught her, yet it was hardly flattering to be someone’s dirty little secret.

Feeling rather annoyed with both herself and Malfoy, she made to leave.

Malfoy’s hand shot out to stop her. “Where are you—” he stopped abruptly, as she had her wand pressed against his jugular vein.

“Let go of me,” she calmly said, not softening the pressure of her wand, even as he did as asked. Hermione couldn’t help but smile a little at his shocked expression as she carefully removed his wand from his pocket. “Why did you bring me here?” she then proceeded to ask coldly. He made no move to answer, and she prodded him a little harder with her wand.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, glowering at her.

She supposed it was, but… “Spell it out to me!” she said, feeling a certain satisfaction from the fact that he was unable to hide his annoyance.

“I wanted to _fuck_ you again,” he calmly said after a small pause, smirking a little at her wince and glare at his crude choice of words.

She shook her head. “No, you said—”

“I lied, all right? This here is not exactly something I’m proud of.”

“You hate me,” she stated, slowly, as if daring him to dispute it.

“That’s right I do. I hate you and your two friends, The Boy Who Stalks and sidekick Beggar Boy, with all my heart. That doesn’t keep me from wanting to _fuck_ you.”

His vulgarity was really grating on Hermione’s nerves and, again, she prodded him hard enough for him to wince and swallow. And wasn’t he looking a little paler than usual? “ _Stop_ using that kind of language,” she hissed.

“Then what, pray tell, am I supposed to call it?” he asked sarcastically. “If I’m not supposed to say shag or fuck…”

“Then you will find a nicer term,” she said, aware that her hands and her voice were shaking a little, and doing her best to steel herself. “Why do you want to?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why do I want to what?”

She poked him again, eliciting a grunt and a scowl from him. “Why do you want to _sleep with_ me?” she asked, all too aware that they were still standing too closely together, for all intents and purposes hidden from the world.

He seemed hesitant to reply. She was about to jab him again when he jerked his head and said, “I’m not really sure, ok? I just do.”

Hermione straightened her back and looked down her nose at him. “Well, it’s not going to happen. Not now, not ever! I won’t let you!”

He laughed abruptly, stopping on a growl when she again dug her wand into his throat. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Granger,” he said. “You want it just as much as I do.”

Hermione felt her face flush. He was right. That didn’t mean she had to give in to it, though. He was still the same slimy bastard he had always been, and if she remembered that, she would stand a better chance of resisting his advances.

“I am going back to my common room now, and you are doing nothing to stop me,” she calmly informed him. “Do you understand?”

He gave a terse nod of the head, his eyes promising every kind of retribution.

Well, they’d see about that. Hermione, for one, was tired of being bullied around. Still facing Malfoy, she pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. Once she was sure that she was out of sight, she broke into a run and ran all the way back to her common room.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco coughed and rubbed his throat, casting another murderous look in the direction Granger had run off. This was definitely not how he had planned this thing. Right about now he was supposed to be sated from a most satisfying tryst, not having a sore throat from being poked. _He_ had been supposed to do all the poking, damn it! He lashed out in frustration, sending one of the shelves tumbling down with a loud crash. Perversely, that made him feel a little bit better. 

_Fucking bitch._

He didn’t know why he wanted her so badly, but he did. For the last four weeks, he had been able to think about nothing but burying himself inside her again. The first two weeks, he had felt like crap, trying to convince himself that he could not have release because she was a Mudblood, but, after a while, that reasoning just seemed empty. He didn’t want to marry her, for crying out loud, he just wanted to fuck her. 

Yes, ‘fuck’ was his new favorite word. It described very well what he dreamed about doing every night: taking her hard and fast, pounding into her, watching her face flush and her eyes roll back, hammering, until he felt her walls clenching around him and…

_Fucking bitch._

He felt cheated. Her hands and lips had soothed some of his need earlier. She had felt warm and wet, and they had been so close to actually completing the act. He felt like a man dying of thirst who had gotten enough water to soothe his craving for a few minutes, just to have the need returned all the stronger because of the taste.

Potter, it was always Potter. There was one person he wouldn’t miss if he fell off the face of the earth. In fact, wasn’t there a rumor about an Anti-Gravitation spell? He’d have to look into that.

Draco stepped out of the closet, not bothering to clean up the fallen shelves, and began walking towards the dungeons. No reason standing around like a fool. She wasn’t going to change her mind. Not tonight, anyway. Eventually, though…

The thing that had changed his resolve to stay away from Granger once and for all had been when Pansy had come on to him in the common room one day. He’d thought, “ _Why not? She’s willing!_ ” and had brought her to his room. There he had proceeded to kick everyone out, before taking his pent up lust out on the girl with a kiss that should have burned them both up.

Pansy had not responded as he had hoped. While she had not pushed him away, she hadn’t been a quivering lusty morsel either. She had been rather passive, and he had noticed a brief look of fear in her eyes, quickly hidden with a seductive glance taking its place. It had surprised and annoyed him that she had shown fear in the bedchamber of all places. He had never given her the least of unsolicited touches, and it angered him that she seemed to think he would start now.

She had then proceeded to coo for his patience while undressing him. He had let her, even though patience was a word almost unrecognizable to him at that point.

When they had been on the bed, he had continued to kiss and touch her, but, to his immense dissatisfaction, she was nowhere near his level of need, and his intensity seemed to scare her more and more, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore and told her to get out.

She had tried insisting that she wanted this, until he had wrenched her legs apart, forced a finger into her dry heat and, leaning over her clearly wincing and frightened visage, had sneered, _‘Not a drop. You haven’t even the decency to think of someone you do want to shag. Now GET OUT!’_

She had jumped from his bed, gathered her clothes and, sobbing, she had run from the room.

Draco supposed he’d been a bit hard on her. It wasn’t really her fault that he didn’t want her anymore, either. Yet, the next day she had approached him at breakfast with a wary look, and, upon seeing that he wasn’t about to treat her any differently than usual, she had gleefully resumed the old act. Keeping up appearances was important after all, and being associated with a Malfoy was good, even if he did humiliate you in the privacy of his bedroom.

The whole thing had left him violently frustrated, and it was then he had started scheming to get Granger alone again. It had been much harder than he had first thought. For a week, she had eluded him, never being alone for a single second. At first, he had tried taunting her for a response, but that hadn’t helped at all; she’d only grown more defensive. Then he’d stopped the taunts and started planning the seduction. The important part was to not allow her to think. The closet had been the perfect place to execute the plan, and he’d almost succeeded too.

_If it hadn’t been for that Potter!_

Draco reached the stone wall blocking the entrance to his common room and mumbled, “ _Ambition!_ ” allowing him in. He had plenty of ambition, all right. Inside, he flung himself into a comfortable armchair near Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed to be struggling with school work, and continued his musings.

There were other girls, of course. Yet, somehow it seemed like Slytherin girls were afraid of Pansy, and non-Slytherin girls didn’t find him quite as charming as he would have thought. In the week that Granger had eluded him, he’d gotten the farthest with the Greengrass girl, who smiled and blushed whenever he was around, but, after two days, she had suddenly begun to avoid him and shoot fearful glances in Pansy’s direction.

Draco sighed. Maybe his love life would get easier if he simply gave Pansy the slip, yet, somehow, he doubted it. She was much like him—too used to getting her way. No, it was probably better to keep her close and have at least a little control over her actions.

He rubbed his throat again. _Saucy wench_ , he thought, having calmed down a great deal. He couldn’t keep from grinning when he imagined just how much his prize would be worth all his hardships.

“That can’t be good,” a dry voice commented. Draco looked at the speaker to see it was Theodore Nott. Nott was a queer sort of fellow, and Draco was somewhat surprised to be addressed by him, yet there was no mistaking who he was talking to.

“What?” he croaked, before giving a slight cough. Damn wench had really poked his vocal cord good.

“You come in here looking like murder and five minutes later you are grinning like a maniac. No, please don’t tell me what you’re up to. I don’t want to know,” he waved Draco off before he could reply, and then returned to the book he was reading.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh.

*****

The very next day, Draco was still feeling optimistic about his chances and in a better mood than his friends had seen him in for a long time. Granger’s usual unwillingness to even glance at him at breakfast didn’t even detract from it in the least. He knew she wanted him, her moaning and squirming and slick folds did not lie. Soon his burning need would be satisfied. 

Yet, even in Arithmancy, which her moronic friends didn’t take, she remained aloof, ignoring him, while answering every single question in her usual annoying way. Draco still wasn’t discouraged, but the lack of attention had begun to get on his nerves again. Having nothing better to do, schoolwork being out of the question, he made whispered remarks to his friends every time she answered a question, gradually making a disturbance as his friends were trying hard to hide their laughter and failing, while Granger’s face turned a darker and darker shade of red. She still didn’t deign to look at him, though. Eventually, he had to stop as Professor Vector noticed, berated him, and deducted points from Slytherin, promising him detention if he continued.

It was when he was on his way to Charms that it happened.

Something hit the back of his head, stretched and burst, leaving him with a decidedly sticky and yucky feeling.

“PEEVES!” he roared, turning to face the culprit, while he could hear sniggering from around him, making his face flush a little in embarrassment. He was awarded by getting another dose of what appeared to be water balloons filled with some green, slimy substance straight in the face, to everyone’s great mirth, especially one girl was laughing louder than everyone else.

Spluttering, he removed the worst goo from his eyes and mouth and then proceeded to hurl various hexes in Peeves’s direction, yet lamentably missing him every time. Another balloon was thrown, but this time Draco dodged it, and, judging from a shriek behind him, it found another target.

Draco turned to see who had been hit, yet forgot to laugh at the fifth year girl with a giant splotch on her robes, when he noticed who was laughing so merrily at him that she was almost jumping up and down and clapping her hands with delight. A balloon hit the hem of his robes, but he no longer cared, and Peeves got bored aiming at him and began juggling instead.

 _Granger_.

Her friends were with her, of course, both wearing big smirks. Granger was flushed and had tears in her eyes, while she pointed at him and tried to say something that came out more as a heehawing. Draco looked at her and watched her slowly regain her composure, only to lose it again, when Weasley mumbled, “Always did say he was a slimy git.”

Draco did consider trying to shut Granger up with a very suggestive crack about his effect on her, but he recognized that he was in no position right now and settled for a scowl. She took one look on his face and laughed even harder.

“Sl—” she sobbed. “Sssssllllllllllllllll—” Another burst of laughter and gasps. She had an interesting shade of purple on her face now, and tears were openly rolling down her cheeks. “Sssllllllli—Slim—Ssssssli—” She seemed incapable of finishing the word and actually almost toppled over laughing before being steadied by Weasley and Potter, who now seemed to be paying more attention to her than Peeves’ antics.

Peeves made another attempt at getting the attention back by aiming for the back of Draco’s head once more, but Draco moved in that instant, and the balloon only grazed his shoulder and hit Granger, leaving half her face and a rather large portion of her unruly hair covered in the green substance. Even this did nothing to stop her laughing. She wiped her face with one hand, and, upon seeing what she’d scraped off, she laughed even harder, making rather desperate gasps for air, and grabbing a hold of Weasley with the dirty hand, making him wince a little. Draco even felt his own lips twitch as others, including her own friends, were now giggling openly at Granger, who couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Draco started fantasizing about grabbing her laughing frame, hauling her into an empty room and kissing her until her giggle turned into a moan and she was clawing at him again. This thought left him in a rather uncomfortable state in itself, of course, but the appeal of the fantasy could not be denied.

“Out of the way, shoo,” came the voice of Professor McGonagall. “Really, Miss Granger, I would have thought you of all people would exercise more restraint. Mr. Malfoy…” she sighed. “Wait here. PEEVES!” The formidable head of Gryffindor House then proceeded to threaten Peeves, who was now juggling his bombs and making raspberries at her, delighted that finally someone paid him some heed.

Granger was in no way discouraged by the arrival of the teacher, she was now giggling and sobbing into Weasley’s chest, making unintelligible sounds, while he smiled fondly down at her, trying to avoid the goo while patting her back, and looking mightily pleased with himself.

Suddenly, for the first time that day, Draco felt angry enough to commit murder. He suggested to nobody in particular that she was under the Tickling Charm, but Professor Flitwick, who had also been attracted by the commotion, heard that and rushed to assure him that she was simply having a fit of being a _Teenage Girl_ , which was quite common for girls her age.

“Now—really, Miss Granger—” Professor McGonagall said, having finally intimidated Peeves to stop, “let’s have a look at you, Mr. Malfoy.” She flicked her wand at Draco, but nothing happened. Frowning, she flicked it again. And again. Draco kept being as covered in gunk as he had been before. Gingerly, she touched the substance and then sighed. “I should have known. It’s ectoplasm. There’s nothing to do for it, it won’t remove by magic. I only wonder how he managed to get such quantities.” She sighed again. “Off you go, then. Bathe and change your clothes, and I will let your teachers know that you will miss this class. You too, Miss Granger, if you should manage to get a hold of yourself.” Having effectively dismissed them both, she then proceeded to talk to the other girl that had been hit, who only needed a change of robes.

Granger’s sobs and giggles had receded a little, but every time she looked up at him, they would return with renewed force. Fortunately, nobody questioned the furious glance he shot at Granger and Weasley as he brushed past on his way off to the baths. He made sure to shake his head to spread the wealth a little as he passed them.

Draco hadn’t gone far when he saw Pansy and a group of her girlfriends. Thinking that finally she might be of some use, he went up to her. The second she saw him, her eyes widened, and she glanced around, quickly, as if to see how many had seen. Good old shallow Pansy. He forced a smile at her.

“What happened?” she asked in a horrified voice. “Why are you walking around like that?”

“Peeves,” he replied. “Be a sweetheart and give me the password for the prefects’ bathroom, so I can get a nice bath, will you?”

Pansy nodded and whispered the pass in his ear, being very careful not to touch any of the ectoplasm. He couldn’t really blame her; he was wishing that none of it was touching him either. “Thanks, love,” he said and walked on.

Before going to the fifth floor bathroom, Draco had to go four floors down to get clean robes, and by the time he had made it six floors up again, he was certain that the entire school had not only seen his appearance but had bought into Weasley’s feeble ‘slimy git’ joke. That boy had a death wish.

The second he pushed the door open to the prefects’ bathroom, he knew something was off. Someone was there. His eyes went to the enormous tub, where a certain unmistakable bushy-haired Mudblood was floating covered with foam, her eyes closed.

This certainly was an unexpected treat. He had forgotten that the little spitfire was still a prefect, but of course she was. Without making a sound, he closed and bolted the door, frowning that she had forgotten to do this. Was she expecting someone? Perhaps she had known he would come? No, unfortunately he had to discard that theory; she couldn’t have known that Pansy still let him use the bathroom sometimes since he, strictly speaking, wasn’t allowed here anymore.

Slowly, he walked towards the pile of robes and towels that she had placed next to the edge. She didn’t stir. He took the pile and deposited it where she had no chance of reaching it soon and then tip-toed over to the pile of fresh towels in the corner to cover up the mermaid picture. It was the mermaid’s indignant screech that made Granger aware of his presence. She started and then, of all things, began laughing again when she saw him. Draco raised an eyebrow and then began pulling off his boots—that shut her up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking a bath.”

“You’re not a prefect. You’re not allowed in here. In fact…” She turned to the door, frowning.

He grinned at her. “How clever of me to know one, then.”

Realization dawned on her face. “Pansy. That irresponsible, inconsiderate, little—”

“Now, now,” he said, having finished with his boots. “That’s not very nice. She just wants a nice, clean boyfriend, doesn’t she?”

“Well,” Granger said. “As you can see the tub is in use!” She blushed, as if just realizing she was naked. He had certainly known all along. “So you’ll just have to go bathe somewhere else. Shoo!”

“You’re not being very friendly, are you?” he said, loosening his belt, smirking as her eyes widened. “I mean, you certainly look much cleaner than I am.”

“Oh! In that case I’ll just—“ her voice abruptly cut off as she turned to where her clothes had been supposed to be. “What did you do with my clothes?”

“It made sense to move it so it wouldn’t get wet,” he said, pointing across the room, not bothering to hide the grin on his face.

“Well, give it back!”

He continued to grin at her. “I don’t think so. Why don’t you go and get it?” Images of a wet and naked Granger emerging from the water were running through his head and were having a pronounced effect elsewhere. He pulled off his robes, making her hastily look away.

“You insufferable, arrogant son of a—”

“No need to drag my mother into this.”

Granger merely sneered at him. “Give me my clothes back, then.”

“I told you,” he said, stripping off his underwear. “You’re welcome to go get them.” He didn’t fail to notice that she had turned pink and was avoiding looking at him. He wondered whether her flush was from anger, embarrassment or arousal. He hoped for the latter.

As he slipped into the pool, she edged warily away from him. “Relax, Granger,” he smoothly said. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” He lowered his lashes, making a pretense of washing off, while covertly watching her. He really hoped she’d make a run for her clothes, and he didn’t fail to notice the gentle rounding of the top of her breasts, even as she was still warily keeping an eye on him.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked in a strangled voice. “Why do you keep…” Words seemed to fail her.

“Because I, unlike you, am not a hypocrite,” he answered without stopping his washing. Damn, this stuff was everywhere and it had dried into stubborn cakes in places. Stupid poltergeist. Yet, if it hadn’t been for Peeves, he wouldn’t have been here…. He had to remember to thank him if this went well.

He coughed and spluttered, as she unexpectedly splashed water in his face.

“I am _not_ a hypocrite,” she hissed.

“Of course you are,” he said with an annoyed glance at her. “You won’t acknowledge what you want, will you?”

“I _know_ what I want!” she said a little too loudly while hitting down on the water, splashing it everywhere.

There was a silence.

“Do you, now?” he finally asked in a low voice.

She blushed. “I—I didn’t mean… I don’t want…”

“In that case,” he said with a disappointed sigh, “you are still a hypocrite.” Deciding he had had enough conversation that wasn’t getting him anywhere, he dived to rinse his hair. While under the water, he opened his eyes for a most delicious view, and in a couple of strokes, he was next to her, resurfacing.

Granger shrieked and then made for the edge. She reached it just as he reached her, and before she could hoist herself up, he had her turned and caught between his arms.

“You know what really bothers me?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “The fact that you still act as if I’m about to force you, even though you want this as much as I do.” Swiftly, he bent to kiss her.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss, yet their bodies weren’t touching, and, had she wanted to, she could easily have slipped away. She didn’t. She stood as if stupefied by his words and allowed the kiss. Draco was fighting himself hard not to simply press her against the side of the bath and give them both what they needed, but he was _not_ going to force himself on her. It would defeat the whole reason he wanted her in the first place. He wanted her to surrender.

After a few seconds, he felt her hands on his arms, caressing him, moving up to his neck. A low moan escaped her lips and a jolt of pure need shot through him. Did she even have the slightest inkling of what she was doing to him? When she pressed her body against his, he felt positively ready to go off. He broke the kiss and with an act of extreme willpower stepped away from her.

Granger made a muffled sound of objection and looked at him with big brown eyes filled with need. Did she know how transparent she was? “Why did you stop?” she asked in a throaty voice.

“If you want me…” he said, almost already regretting his resolve. “Come and get me.”

She slowly shook her head and disappointment seeped through him, mixing with frustration and anger.

_She will rather have us both suffer than admit she wants me. Why?_

“I can’t,” she softly said. “Not again. I won’t be your slut.”

_What?_

“What are you talking about?” he demanded a little angrier than he had meant to.

“You called me a slut,” she said with her eyes averted. “For… you know, coming and getting you.”

Draco closed his eyes and cursed himself. Sometimes he could be such an idiot. So could she. “Fuck, Granger,” he said, ignoring her reproachful look at his language. “Sometimes you can be really stupid, you know that?”

At this, Granger paled, her eyes widened, and she made to get away from him. Again he grabbed a hold of her, back to front, before she could get out. “I said those things,” he whispered in her ear, “because I hated what you could do to me. You were a virgin, how could you be a slut? It was a lie.” This seemed to mollify her a little, and she relaxed against him.

He felt himself reacting strongly to the closeness of their bodies, and he knew he couldn’t let go again. He had to have her; she had to want him—whatever it took. He let his hand caress her neck, feeling her lean into him, and, slowly, so as not to scare her away, he turned her and claimed her for another kiss. She didn’t push him away.

He grabbed her closer and deepened the kiss hungrily, and still she didn’t push him away.

He backed her against the edge of the basin, and she wrapped her legs around him and ran her fingers through his hair. Draco moaned against her lips. He felt his senses fill with the feeling of her skin against his, the warm water surrounding them, and the heady, perfumed smells of the bubbles and foam covering the entire pool.

She broke the kiss to nibble at his neck, and he couldn’t wait any longer, yet when he wanted to enter her she pulled away from him. He growled. 

“I should do the getting, remember?” she purred at him, before she poised herself at his tip and slowly lowered herself, extracting a low groan from him. When she withdrew, he made a sound of protest.

“Why,” she asked, nibbling his ear. “Would I want to get it, though?”

“Because you want it,” he choked out. She laughed.

Once more, she did the same maddening motion, and he was sure that he would disgrace himself if she didn’t stop teasing him soon. He told her as much. She merely laughed again.

“Why don’t you go to Pansy, then?” she taunted. “I bet she’d do things your way.”

“I haven’t wanted her since—” He stopped, but it was too late. She had heard and from the look on her face, she was very pleased with what she had heard. Too pleased.

Growling, he took matters into his own hand, and, holding her against the side of the basin, he thrust into her, hard and deep. She moaned her approval as he thrust into her again and again. It felt even better than he remembered if that were possible.

Much faster than he had hoped, he felt his control slip and his pace quickened. Fuck. He wouldn’t be able to get her off. He tried desperately to regain control, but it was a lost cause as the way she moved against him and moaned his name was driving him rapidly towards the edge that he was trying to pull away from. He sucked the tender spot on her neck, making her arch against him, and he felt it coming. In another few strokes, it would be over.

“Fuck, Granger, I’m coming,” he murmured apologetically against her ear. Immediately, he felt her response, as she bit down hard on his shoulder to stifle a scream, and she convulsed around him. The sharp pain made him hiss, and then he was coming too.

For several long moments, there was nothing but their heartbeats and the sounds of their breathing.

Slowly, Draco lifted his head to look at her. “Damn, Granger…”

“We have class,” she interrupted, not quite looking at him. “We should hurry. We’ve taken too long already.”

She was right, of course, but he didn’t like her reaction. “I’m sure you’ll be forgiven,” he said. “Maybe if you just explain to them that you needed a good—”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” she yelled, pushing him forcefully away from her. “Why, in the name of Merlin, do you always have to be so crude?”

Draco winced. Not at her words, but because some suds had made his shoulder sting. He looked down at it to see that she had very nearly taken a bite out of him—the teeth marks were deep and she had drawn blood. She seemed to just notice too, and her eyes grew big and contrite.

“I can fix that for you,” she mumbled. “Hold on.” She pulled herself out of the tub and went for her wand, seemingly unaware of her naked, glistening body. Draco wasn’t unaware; he was fully capable of enjoying the sight offered him.

“No,” he said, when she had found her wand and was making her way back. He got out as well and began drying off, taking care around his tender skin. “Leave it.” He liked the bite mark, although he wasn’t going to tell her that. The adrenaline when she had bit down had made his orgasm even more intense, and he liked the thought that there was at least one girl around here that he could drive wild with need. Even if he did have to stalk her for a month before she allowed him to.

Granger didn’t argue. She merely dried off as well and got dressed. Draco stood looking at her, wondering if she was still in denial. When she was done, she looked thoughtful for a moment, before she spoke. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “What we’re doing is unhealthy and deceitful and stupid.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. He supposed that was a yes. “Not to mention wrong and perverse,” he added helpfully.

She nodded, and he stood watching her for a few moments as she gathered her things. She was really quite pretty. He didn’t know why that thought surprised him—of course she was. Why else would he want her so badly? It couldn’t just be because of her rather lusty nature, as he was quite sure that if Millicent Bulstrode started ripping his clothes off and was panting in his ear, he wouldn’t be the least interested.

When she didn’t say anything further and again seemed to avoid looking at him, he decided to kiss her. Striding over to her, he turned her and pressed his lips against hers, before she had time to object. This was the first time he kissed her without an urgent need raging through his body. It was a kiss holding the promise that he’d have her again no matter what. He let his hand tangle in her wet curls and dragged her closer. At first, her eyes widened, and she briefly struggled, but then she surrendered to the kiss on a sigh. 

When satisfied with her response, he broke the kiss. “So, when will we do this again?” he calmly asked.

That got her attention. “We just agreed—“

“We never agreed to stop,” he cut across. “Don’t tell me that that’s what you really want.”

She shook her head. “I—I need to go to class,” she said. Draco was feeling thoroughly exasperated, when she walked away from him once again. Pausing at the door, she looked at him and said: “I guess I’ll see you around?” And before he knew what to make of this, she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, GOD!_

They had done it again. They had really done it again. It was no longer a crazy one night fluke, now it had happened _twice_ , making it a pattern.

Sleeping with Malfoy was a pattern.

 _Oh, God_.

Hermione was horrified. She was horrified that she had done it again—and been so _wicked_ about it too—and she was also quite horrified that she was now feeling giddy. _Giddy_ , of all things! It must be the Peeves incident still affecting her.

Yet, even though the thought of Malfoy’s face, as Peeves hit him with the slime balloon, still made her giggle, she knew that wasn’t the reason. She was giddy because she couldn’t help herself but feel extremely pleased about what had happened. It was sick and twisted, she knew, and she tried quelling the feeling, but to no avail.

Sleeping with Malfoy was a tremendous ego boost. It wasn’t that he lied to get her into bed (or desk, or closet, or bath)—it was very obvious that he didn’t. He wasn’t smart enough to be _that_ devious. Every time he made a concession to wanting her, he seemed slightly resentful at the thought, and he clearly hadn’t wanted to let her know that he didn’t find Pansy appealing anymore.

That revelation alone she could live on for the rest of the year. Pansy with her crowd of Pansettes, always thinking she was so much better and yet—who was it Pansy’s boyfriend turned to for passionate encounters?

Hermione knew she was smirking but was unable to help herself.

She was quite perky by the time she reached Defense Against the Dark Arts and happily ignored Harry and Ron’s disgusted looks.

“It figures,” Ron moaned. “She’s happy to make it in time for this class. Doesn’t know a good opportunity when she sees one.”

“Oh, shut up, Ron,” she cheerfully replied. “If I weren’t here, whose notes would you copy?”

The only reply was a low grumble.

“Malfoy is probably milking it for all it’s worth,” Harry said. “I bet nobody sees him before lunch.”

Hermione giggled again and was on the receiving end of another couple of appalled looks, which made her feel a little guilty. “Oh, come on,” she said. “He _did_ get pretty mucked up, didn’t he? And since when are you sorry to not see him around?”

Just then Professor Snape came billowing in, fortunately cutting her friends off from whatever they were about to say.

*****

Harry was right. Nobody did see Malfoy before lunch. Hermione might not have noticed him then either, if it hadn’t been for the whispers and sniggering. As it was, however, she looked up, saw his annoyed frown and slightly pink cheeks, and began chuckling again. He had really had this day coming for a long, long time. 

As if alerted to her presence, he looked straight at her, his eyes darkening with something other than anger, before he looked away and went to sit with his friends. Pansy, she noticed, didn’t look too happy about the sort of attention he brought with him that day. Well, that was just too bad for her, wasn’t it?

*****

A few days passed without incident again. Sometimes Hermione would look up and catch Malfoy looking thoughtfully at her, but he made no attempt to approach her, and during the weekend they had no reason to be around the same places—except at meals, which hardly counted. 

Malfoy still sneered and baited Ron and Harry, but, for the most part, he seemed to pretend that Hermione was beneath his notice. It was amusing in its own way, as he had been baiting her for so long that his sudden change of policy seemed rather abrupt. He was acting odd in so many other ways, however, that nobody put two and two together.

On Saturday, he even called in sick for the opening Quidditch match, making Harry extremely suspicious. Hermione tried suggesting that he might have actually _been_ sick, but all she got for her efforts was a dirty look.

On Monday, Hermione went to Potions early and sat down on a carved-out stone bench near the classroom to get a head start on her Arithmancy homework. She had managed to forget how cold the dungeons could be in November, though, and the floor was drafty. She remedied that by pulling up her legs and placing her feet on the bench, which also enabled her to use her thighs as a rest for the book. She was happily sitting there, reading and scribbling down notes, when she heard someone drop their books. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Malfoy.

“Tonight,” he mumbled, pretending to collect his books. Ah, so that was what this was about.

“I can’t,” she replied just as curtly.

“Why not?” He seemed wary.

“I have plans.” She actually did. She had prefect duties. Of course, he needn’t know that they wouldn’t take all night.

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t.”

He sighed irritably. “Fine. Tomorrow, then.”

“Can’t.”

“Cancel!”

“No.” Hermione was actually enjoying this and couldn’t keep from smiling at her notes.

Malfoy dropped the pretense, snapping up his books and standing up to look down on her. “When, then?”

She gave the appearance of giving this some thought. “Next Thursday?”

His eyes glittered angrily and she expected him to object, but he surprised her. “Fine,” he gritted out. “Meet me at the statue of Lachlan on seventh floor at ten.” He walked on but stopped after a few steps. “Oh, and Granger?”

“Yes?”

“ _Don’t_ be late.” He walked away, and she was left feeling a little disappointed that he hadn’t pushed her for a sooner meeting, yet at the same time giddy again and aware that she had made an important point.

“Don’t be late for what?” a well-known voice asked, and Hermione banged her head into the wall as she jumped.

“Ow! Ron! Give some warning next time instead of sneaking up on me!” she scolded.

“Sorry,” Ron said, but he was frowning. “What are you meeting with Malfoy for?”

“Homework,” she replied automatically. “He, uh, really needs to pick up on his Arithmancy.”

“That explains why he is doing it; why are you doing it?”

“Extra credit.” Hermione was surprised at how easily the lies rolled off her tongue.

“You don’t need any stupid credit, why don’t you just leave him to rot?”

Hermione snapped her book shut. “Last time I checked, Ronald Weasley,” she coldly said, “it was not up to _you_ to decide what I need.”

Ron merely looked at her. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, I was just wondering what he could possibly offer to make you tutor him.”

Hermione shrugged. “I like teaching. I might end up pursuing that line. Who better to practice on than the school’s biggest prat?”

Ron shook his head, still not quite reassured, but then their classmates were all filing past them on their way to class, and Ron and Hermione found Harry and joined up.

Hermione secretly noticed that Malfoy seemed to be in a rather bad mood for the rest of the day. She would like to think that she had had something to do with that.

*****

For the next ten days, Hermione saw surprisingly little of Malfoy. He showed up in class, but he always seemed absent-minded and he was missing meals. She had to remind herself that she didn’t care what was wrong, as long as it wasn’t anything she would catch. 

There was one incident where he saw her coming and bent to kiss Pansy in an uncharacteristic show of affection. Hermione had first gotten angry about the show he was obviously putting on, but then she had been amused. He must obviously feel the need to make a statement, but it was really rather redundant. She had ignored the couple, and he hadn’t seemed to bother doing it again.

When the time came, Hermione snuck up to the statue, and at two to ten, she was in place waiting for him. She _had_ considered being late, but she wasn’t sure how far she wanted to push him. Yet as the minutes passed, she was regretting being on time. Where was he? Had he decided not to come? Her stomach turned with mortification at the thought. She wouldn’t put it past him to do something that low. When it was a quarter past, she decided to leave and never go near the bastard again.

Just as she turned to leave, he appeared, looking pale and worried. Hermione ignored this to the best of her ability. She really didn’t care what he had to worry about, she didn’t.

“You’re late,” she accused, aghast at her own relief that he hadn’t stood her up. Well, of course she was relieved! It was hardly flattering to be discarded or forgotten. Maybe she shouldn’t put him off for so long next time, though…

“I’m touched by your concern,” he sarcastically said, taking her arm and pulling her along with him. “I must admit, I wasn’t even sure you’d show up.”

Hermione hadn’t been completely sure she would either, but in the end she had been unable to resist. “I said I would, didn’t I?” she coolly replied.

Malfoy gave a short bark of a laughter. “Indeed, you did,” he answered.

She just realized where they were going. “Room of Requirement?” she asked. “Isn’t that a little…” He looked at her questioningly. “… obvious?” she finished.

He gave her a humorless smile. “Yes, who wouldn’t guess that I’d bring you here in order to debauch you?”

Hermione went a little pink but persisted. “Doesn’t it seem like a rather immoral way to use this room? And what if we get caught?”

“How will they catch us when they don’t know what we’re doing in there? They probably think that you conjured up some big library, _tutoring_ me.” Hermione gave him a puzzled look, but Malfoy waved it off. “That Weasel friend of yours is going around asking questions. He doesn’t seem to understand why you would help me out. He should be careful or he might get hurt.”

Hermione felt embarrassed at this revelation. “I would really like it if you wouldn’t threaten my friends,” was, however, all she said. What was she supposed to say?

“And I would really like it if your friends would mind their own business for once, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?” Malfoy walked back and forth in front of the spot where the door was to appear. Nothing happened. Then he grinned, shook his head, and tried again. This time it was successful.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked.

“I wished for a place to shag you senseless,” he said, dragging her into the room and closing the door behind him. “Apparently the room isn’t big on debauchery.”

Hermione looked around. They were in a dimly lit bedroom with a huge, comfortable-looking bed dominating the middle of the room. “How did you convince it?” she asked, feeling a little apprehensive, as she fully realized what she had agreed to… again.

“I wished for a place where I could finally get a decent night’s sleep,” he replied huskily.

She would have replied that the room seemed a little excessive for that, when she was pulled around, and he kissed her for the first time in two weeks. It never ceased to amaze her, how the simple caress of lips against lips could make her melt so completely. She pressed up against him and stroked his back, and he pulled her closer, kissing her more deeply.

Hermione felt her eyes close as she succumbed to the sensations. How could something so wrong feel this good? Her eyes fluttered open again, when he began removing her belt, but she didn’t dream of stopping him. He pulled off her robes, exposing her underwear, making her blush a little to her own chagrin. Kissing her again, he pushed her towards the bed. When they reached the bed she pushed him off, so she could remove her boots. He removed his boots, as well, and then his robes. She smiled nervously, averting her eyes, because in spite of everything, she was still feeling awkward around him in the time between them getting undressed and them actually having sex.

“Can’t even look at me in spite of wanting it so very badly,” he quietly mused, before covering her lips with his again and moving to cover her body with his as well.

It felt wonderful just to feel his body weighing hers down. She felt her bra loosen, and he threw it out of the way, bending to worship her breasts. She both heard and felt his groan, as she arched up against him. “You know you need release,” she half-smirked, half-panted, trying to goad him to take her. “I bet you barely made it through the two weeks this time.”

He didn’t reply immediately, but simply smiled, took one of her hands in each of his own and held them above her head while kissing her gently, moving to nibble at her ear and her neck. Then he removed one of his hands and whispered. “Who says I did?”

Something about his tone of voice was like a bucket of ice water on her senses. He had removed both his hands now, but when she tried to lower her arms to push him away, she found that she couldn’t. She looked to her right and saw that the hand he had removed first was holding his wand. He had distracted her with kisses to bind her, the bastard. She struggled in vain against the binding for a few seconds and then looked accusingly at Malfoy.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, but she already knew.

“Don’t be so surprised,” he quietly said. “Like you said yourself – two weeks is a long time to wait.”

“Bastard!” she spat out. “Release me!”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, his voice still calm. “You’d only see it as an excuse to fight me.”

Damn right she would. She wasn’t staying here with him for another minute. How dare he sleep with someone else when they had a rendezvous planned for tonight? She would be out of there the second she could free her hands.

She noticed that he was still caressing her, and she bucked and kicked at him to prevent it, inadvertently hitting his nose, making him utter a foul oath. This pleased her a little bit.

“ _For fuck’s sake, Granger!_ ” he roared, eyes watering. “Isn’t it enough that you keep making me wait? Do I really have to fight you every step of the way?”

Hermione looked at him aghast. How could he even consider that she would still sleep with him? “Let me GO! I don’t want your used dick!” She blushed a little at her own language.

He frowned at her. “Does it really matter that much? You didn’t care too much last time, before...” he shrugged. _Before he’d let it slip that he hadn’t had sex with Pansy since he’d had Hermione._

“Last time wasn’t…” _planned_. “Last time was last time. Release me!”

He shook his head. “No,” he hoarsely said. “You want this, too, but you would never admit it, would you?”

She immediately changed her tactics. He had been acting so odd lately. Who knew what was going on inside his head? “Just let me go. You want me to get you, remember?”

Malfoy actually smiled at her. “You did come to get me at the statue,” he said. “That’s all the surrender I need.” He bent to kiss her, but she squirmed to avoid it and he had to settle for her neck… and her shoulders… and her breasts….

Hermione tried her best to twist away from him, but he steadied her easily, and she didn’t know if she wanted to hurt him. So far he wasn’t doing anything unpleasant to her. It was appalling, but she had to admit that his caresses felt really good. If she hadn’t been so angry about this, she would have welcomed his touches more eagerly. Two weeks had been a long time for her too.

“Why don’t you just do it with Pansy if you’re on sleeping terms with her again, instead of doing this to me?” she asked, trying to keep her thoughts from getting muffled with want.

Malfoy chuckled against her belly, which he was now kissing and nibbling at. “You were the one who made me wait, my sweet. Too late to regret it now.” He was moving lower.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she pressed her legs hard together when she realized what he was about to do.

“Open your legs,” he said silkily.

She shook her head in desperate refusal. “No, too embarrassing… Don’t.”

He didn’t heed her objections, but simply pulled her knees apart, placing himself between them. He gingerly touched her and moaned when finding her knickers soaked. Hermione’s cheeks were burning with shame. She didn’t want to want him. He removed this last obstacle and, keeping her knees apart, he pulled back to look at her _there_. Could this possibly get any more humiliating?

He bent over her to kiss her again. “Relax,” he whispered in her ear. “I won’t hurt you. You know I won’t.” He then started kissing his way down again.

_NO!_

She bucked up against him to push him off, but he wasn’t that easily discouraged. Then his mouth was on her most private place, and her eyes widened as she bucked again. Merlin, that felt so… so… “Stop, please!” she moaned.

He didn’t stop.

She tried to convince herself that the reason she was writhing so much was to discourage him. Never mind the jolts of pleasure from the movements of his lips and tongue and mouth, as he was doing the most wicked things she had ever experienced to her.

She was aware that there was no way that he couldn’t taste, feel and smell her arousal and it mortified her, yet at the same time it aroused her even more. She fought it every step of the way. She didn’t want to like it, she didn’t want to come. She didn’t want his tongue to feel that good on her…

Soon she knew she had lost the battle. She arched up and cried out, just as he plunged two fingers inside her to press the spot that had made her wild before. She convulsed violently around them, and she thought she heard him make a guttural sound. Then everything disappeared in waves of pleasure.

Once she became more aware of her surroundings again, Hermione opted to keep her eyes shut. She could still feel the aftershocks going through her sated body. How could it feel that wonderful when she didn’t want it? She heard Malfoy utter a short, gravelly, almost pained laugh, before she felt him lie down next to her. “Closing your eyes doesn’t mean I’ll go away,” he said.

“More’s the pity,” she replied bitterly. She wondered why he hadn’t taken her yet. Didn’t he want to anymore? She snuck a peak that reassured her that he certainly did want it. In fact, from the way his eyes were devouring her, she was really surprised at his restraint. “Get on with it then,” she said, hoping to remove a little of his pleasure. “I mean, that _is_ the plan and the reason I’m still lying here, isn’t it?”

He frowned, clearly taking exception at her words. Good. “I don’t see why you’re complaining,” he said, trailing a hand over her belly in a soft caress. “I mean—that orgasm you just had sure seemed like something to me.” His voice broke and his hand trembled a little with remembered pleasure.

“I didn’t want it,” she snarled. “You know I didn’t.”

He nodded. “And I didn’t want to wait for two weeks for no reason, seems you got the better deal.” His hands wandered lower, slightly caressing her folds, making her blush as she felt his effect on her again. “Besides, you know that deep down you did want it.”

“Why come here at all if your needs were already seen to?” she asked, ignoring his last statement.

He smiled weakly. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Granger.”

“I am _not_ jealous!” she said, fighting a blush. The nerve!

“No?” he asked, eyeing her breasts hungrily, as she moved against her restraints. “Then why did you go livid before?”

“I… Just don’t like to share, that’s all. If you want to be my toy, then I want to be the only one playing. If you want to be someone else’s toy, then fine. Besides, I don’t remember asking you to tie me up either.” She leaned back, glaring at him defiantly.

“Fidelity to the Other Woman?” Malfoy mused. “And who’s the toy now?” He let the back of his hand brush over one of her nipples and her gasp made him groan. “Will you stay if I unbind you?” he whispered.

Hermione shook her head. No, she’d run as far away from him as she could.

He didn’t look pleased with that. “I’ll take you any way I can, but I’d much prefer you unbound myself.”

She smirked at him. “Isn’t that just too bad?”

She didn’t miss the angry glint in his eyes. “If you prefer these little bondage games, Granger, why didn’t you just say so? I can assure you that that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” Swiftly, he removed his boxers and plunged into her.

Hermione couldn’t help the moan that escaped her before she bit down hard on her bottom lip. Lord, this felt good. She tried to feign indifference, but, as he thrust again, she felt her hips meeting his and her eyes rolling back. She did want this, but she refused to yield.

“Last chance, Granger,” he panted. “Please let me unbind you.”

She shook her head. “This… is all… you’ll g—oh… get…” She knew she was gasping and moaning loudly, but she was unable to help herself. Refusing him full pleasure by not letting him unbind her was all she had at this point.

Grunting, he thrust harder and faster and caught her mouth in a fierce kiss that made her bones melt. She could feel his frustration with her in every movement. Soon, she felt the well-known tingle announcing a new climax, and she surrendered to it, vaguely aware that he joined her only a second later. Hermione was feeling better than she had in weeks, and she didn’t even mind being tied up anymore. She was afraid she could get addicted to this.

Having had her didn’t seem to appease him the least bit, though. As soon as his shudders stopped and he got his breath back, he rolled off her and said, “Last time was better.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his grumpy mood; he had seemed to enjoy it well enough just a minute ago. “Well, it’s all downhill from here, then. Be thankful that it’s not happening again,” she said, not sure how she felt about that resolve herself. She had to get out, though, before it was too late.

“The Hell it isn’t.” He frowned at her. “I thought you had gotten over that already.”

“Gotten over what?”

“Being a hypocrite.”

“Just so you know – you’re a hypocrite too. Don’t look at me like that. Like you would ever admit to anyone what we’re doing! Could you perhaps release me now?”

“No.” He looked a lot less than pleased with her right now.

Hermione didn’t believe her own ears. “ _What?_ You can’t keep me here like this.”

“Sounds like I’ll have to, doesn’t it?” He smirked and stretched.

She stared at him. “You’ve got a sick sense of humor.”

“Wasn’t kidding.”

“So, you just plan on keeping me here until you get tired of me?” she drily asked.

“That’s pretty much the plan, yeah.” Now he was outright grinning.

There was a pause.

“You know you’re being childish, right?” she asked.

“And you’re just being stubborn.”

There was an even longer pause.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who actually seemed to be drifting off. She kicked at him. “Hey! I’m cold.”

With an annoyed grunt, he got up, pulled the bedding out from under her, and covered her up. “Comfortable now, princess?” he mockingly asked.

“No,” she said. “My arms are cold, too.”  
He took her cover and draped it over her, so her arms were covered—as was her face. “Better?” he sweetly asked.

She made a cross sound which became muffled.

“You know what you have to do,” he said, slipping under the covers himself, putting an arm across her belly, and whispering in her ear. “If you want to be freed, all you have to do is agree to my terms.”

“You’ve finally lost it, haven’t you?” she answered, her eyes narrowed as she considered his motives.

He yawned sleepily. “I’m too tired to fight with you, Granger. Just promise you won’t run off and start avoiding me again,” he said, rearranging the covers so she could get some air.

“I bet you’d feel differently if it was you who had to share.” Hermione was now fighting drowsiness herself.

“Why don’t you try me?” he asked indifferently.

“I’m not as devious as you. I can’t be in a relationship with one person and sneak off to have sex with another. I’m not adulterous.”

“But you are… with me,” he said reasonably.

“That’s different. I hate Pansy.”

“Then it’s simple, isn’t it? Be in a relationship with someone you hate.” He yawned again and closed his eyes, clearly intending sleep.

Right now, she could only think of one person who would fit that bill. She narrowed her eyes. “You know, this is really all your fault. You could just have chosen to not say anything.” When he didn’t respond, Hermione decided to change her tactics as a boost of inspiration hit her. “You know what I think? I think the reason that you’re saying these things is that you’re scared that I might actually start liking you.”

His eyes flew open again. “ _What?_ ” Bingo.

“Yes, but the problem is you can’t figure out what you want, can you?”

His eyes narrowed and he gave her an exhausted and exasperated glare. “Shut up!”

Hermione sensed she had really hit a nerve and smirked, deciding to get all she could from it. “You didn’t really sleep with Pansy, did you? You just alluded that you might have to show how insignificant I am. Backfired, didn’t it? You didn’t like having me tied up after all, did you?”

He grabbed his wand, and she felt the bond disappear as he sat up and pointed it at her hands. “You’re free to go. Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on your way out.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she persisted, taking down her arms and groaning slightly at the aching.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you’re right about one thing. This _was_ a bad idea.”

She snorted. “And how long will you keep that resolve? Or is this a pattern? You seduce girls until they call your bluff?”

“You talk too much, Granger—go to sleep or at least be quiet,” he said in a fatigued voice, lying back down.

Hermione studied him closely. He looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. “No, it isn’t a pattern, is it? You haven’t—”

“ _Silencio!_ ” he forcefully said, rendering her incapable of speech for the second time in as many months. “Do I really need to hex you every time I want some peace and quiet?” He looked at her pensively. “I don’t mind being around you once you stop yammering, so just go to sleep, all right?”

This time she could easily remove the spell herself, of course, and did so, but she did recognize that he was in no condition for her badgering. Satisfied that she had gotten the response she wanted anyway, she got up and began searching the room for her clothes.

“Or go running off as usual, whatever,” she heard him mumble before he sighed and turned away from her. Well, what did he expect?

It took her some time to find her belt and knickers but finally she was good to go. She looked over at Malfoy and saw that he had actually fallen asleep now. He looked agitated even in his sleep. Shrugging it off, she left the room, sneaking back to the dormitories before she was missed.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco awoke with a jerk, his heart beating hard and fast and his breath coming out in gasps. He was alone. Of course he was. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get any more sleep, so he sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked at the clock. Four o’clock. This was going to be a very long day.

Sighing, he got up and began dressing himself.

He had had another nightmare, of course. In the dream, he had failed, and he had had to watch while his mother was tortured, violated, and killed, before they turned on him. There had been more to the dream, much more, but he chose to block it out. He got the general idea. He had to get this thing done, he _had_ to, or his dreams would come true in the worst way.

He hadn’t been as distracted by last night as he had hoped he would be.

Damn Mudblood, why did she have to be so difficult? He hadn’t wanted to tie her up for the duration. He’d just wanted to punish her a bit for making him wait so long and laughing at him to boot. So, fine, he had gotten a little carried away, but he hadn’t done anything she didn’t like. He knew for a fact that he hadn’t. He had ignored her words and let her body speak to him instead, and the response he had gotten had been overwhelming.

Still she had refused to give in, to give him what he needed. Yes, he had needed to be inside her, but more than that he had needed… more! He wasn’t really sure what he was missing, but it did _not_ involve her fighting him and denying him her touch and kiss.

Ok, so maybe he had miscalculated a little bit with his punishment. Hinting of another girl had not been the smartest thing, but he hadn’t been able to take it back without looking like a fool. Instead he had hoped to make her forget. No luck.

He did _not_ need to have these problems on top of everything else. Perhaps he should simply just… let her be. Stop pursuing her. She clearly didn’t want it enough, and, after last night, he was only left more frustrated than ever.

This thought did nothing to improve his disposition, and he was left feeling the need to be destructive.

He took one of the table-lamps and hurled it against the wall. There was smashing of glass and clanging of metal. This helped a little bit but not enough. He took out his wand and flicked it about. Furniture toppled over, lamps and mirrors smashed, cloth ripped… He wasn’t satisfied before the room was in shambles and even then he just felt a dull emptiness.

Glass crunching under his boots, he turned and left.

*****

The day turned out to be just as long as he had feared. Classes were stupid. People were even more stupid. The food might as well have been saw dust. To top it all off, Granger seemed to be everywhere he looked. Just his luck. Finally he was avoiding her, as he should have been from the beginning, and then he couldn’t turn around without seeing her either with or without her friends.

The next day wasn’t any better, nor was the day after that. After a while, the days just became a blur of lessons, meals, naps, and his ever-present mission.

Previously, he had spent weeks scheming to get Granger alone, and now he came across her alone on multiple occasions. It was driving him crazy. She had something he wanted and she didn’t want to give it, so why couldn’t she at least have the decency to hide out in her common room, or at the library, or _anywhere_ she wasn’t likely to run into him?

One time, he rounded a corner to see her come down the empty hall from the opposite direction. She stopped as if to say something, but he couldn’t stand to stay and hear it, so he just blindly walked on, only semi-aware that he bumped into her shoulder in doing so. Didn’t she understand? He didn’t need all of her talking and poking and teasing. He was done with it. She was now free of him at last.

She didn’t make another effort to speak to him.

Draco now had nothing to distract him from his task and his nightmares. He worked as diligently on it as ever before, yet there was absolutely no progress. He _needed_ a distraction, he soon had to admit. Something that could allow him to relax a bit, perhaps even take his mind off things. He had originally planned the meeting with Granger because of that very same urge, but that obviously hadn’t worked. He was at a loss as to what else would do it.

Quidditch didn’t interest him anymore. It seemed entirely too frivolous a waste of time when he should be doing something else, something much more important. He had a suspicion that the only reason he wasn’t kicked off the team was because of the bribe that had gotten him there to begin with. It didn’t matter, he simply didn’t care. They could do whatever the hell they wanted.

No, he needed to find another outlet. Normally, he would have loved to take it out on Potter, but since he was rarely found without a bushy-haired little vixen near him, Draco opted to avoid him, too. Besides, Potter didn’t need another reason to follow him around. For now, Draco had to live with being stuck in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction.

*****

One night, he was lounging in the Slytherin common room, just staring at the wall, thinking about nothing in particular. His mind was severely muddled by lack of sleep, but there seemed to be nothing to do about it. Dark thoughts kept him awake at night, and when he finally fell asleep, nightmares would wake him again. He had had to start casting silencing charms on the curtains around his bed to keep his roommates from finding out.

After one such nightmare, it was very rare that he could go back to sleep again. The few times he had succeeded, it had only been due to some stupid fantasy that he now did his best not to think about. He didn’t need it. He’d be fine without pining for useless things.

He had, of course, considered going to Madam Pomfrey to get some sort of sleeping draught, but she would ask too many questions. Questions he didn’t want to answer.

Pansy sidled a little closer to him. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

Draco didn’t even look her way. “Nothing,” he replied.

“You don’t look well. You should go to the hospital wing.” Always with the astute observations.

Draco considered whether that _was_ concern in her voice, or if it was simply veiled disgust. He supposed she did have some concern for him. “I’m fine, Pansy, just tired,” he assured her.

Zabini entered the room, looking haughty as ever. For a brief second, Draco envied him. Zabini had not a care in the world. His biggest problems were his grades and how to assert himself as an alpha male.

Draco even considered for a moment if he himself would be willing to live the rest of his life as an underdog, if it meant never having to deal with this kind of stress again. With a heavy sigh, he conceded that, no, he wouldn’t. He was the last Malfoy, and he would remain on top or die trying. He was very likely to die trying, actually, but everyone had to die sometime, right? He swallowed hard. He had just thought that he would have at least a century to get used to the idea.

Zabini sat down in the chair across from the sofa Draco and Pansy were inhabiting and Pansy took Draco’s hand. Huh. She hadn’t seemed overly eager to touch him just a second ago. He felt a little disgusted with himself that even this insignificant and contrived touch comforted him in some ways.

“What’s up, Blaise?” Pansy asked, attracting his cold, dark eyes. Draco always did wonder why she seemed to like that bloke so well.

“Nothing much. There was rumor of some Mudblood in our year puking her guts out all over the place. We’ll probably all be sick from the likes of her within the month.”

“Ugh!” said Pansy. “Who was it?”

“Granger, I think her name was,” Zabini said, eyeing Draco as he said it. Draco couldn’t keep from slightly jerking, and, judging from Zabini’s smirk, he’d noticed.

“Disgusting!” Pansy exclaimed. “She’s not still tutoring you, is she, Draco?” She turned to him and then abruptly said, “Oh, no. She already infected you, didn’t she?” She immediately dropped his hand and moved a little away from him. Draco felt a need to groan at the lack of contact and then immediately felt resentful at Pansy for being so fickle.

“Yeah, I’m wondering,” Zabini said conversationally, “just how close you have to get to one to catch it or… give it.”

Draco shot Zabini a quick glance, but his face was carefully neutral. “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t got it,” he replied. “I’m merely tired.”

“They say Mudblood Granger spends a lot of time unconscious too. They’re wondering why she doesn’t go to Madam Pomfrey.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” he asked warily.

“Yeah,” Pansy injected. “We don’t want to know the details.” She hesitantly picked Draco’s hand up again. This time Draco didn’t feel anything.

Zabini only shrugged. “Just letting you know.”

“Draco, why don’t we go to bed, hmm?” Pansy asked.

Draco shot her a glance. Was she kidding? “No… You stay here,” he said getting to his feet. “I could use the rest, though….”

He was vaguely aware that Zabini was grinning at Pansy, and Pansy had red cheeks and was avoiding looking at either of them. Found being rejected embarrassing, did she? Well, she should be getting used to it about now. Zabini always seemed to be around whenever it happened, too, so he shouldn’t be so amused by it, either.

Whatever.

Draco almost stumbled to bed. What was wrong with Granger anyway?

*****

The next day, Draco went down to breakfast early, as was his new habit since being introduced to the delightful world of insomnia, and stayed there, barely touching his food, waiting to see Granger turn up. She did turn up about half an hour later, only to serve herself eggs, go grey in the face, and run back out.

_Fuck! No, it can’t be._

He stood abruptly, earning a few startled looks, and hurried out after her. He couldn’t see her in the hallway, but he had a pretty good idea where she’d gone.

When she emerged from the girls’ bathroom, slightly green in the face, he was waiting for her.

“Something you feel like telling me?” he asked, trying for casual but hitting strained instead.

She jumped and then clutched her chest. “Oh! It’s you,” she breathed.

He didn’t reply, but merely looked at her.

“No,” she said. “Nothing to tell.”

“Then what is it?” he asked much too loudly.

She made as to put her hand on his arm, but then stopped the motion as if remembering herself. “There are people around,” she almost whispered. “Trust me, it _is_ nothing.” She then turned and walked away from him.

Just like that.

He felt frustrated with her for no apparent reason. He wanted to lash out at someone or something. The halls were filling with students, however, and he didn’t want to attract attention to himself, so he had to resist the urge. Slowly, he turned and walked down to his common room.

What the hell was going on with him?

*****

If there was an upside to this ordeal, it was, of course, that it proved quite a distraction. The downside was his imminent death, but all things considered, that wasn’t so very different from what he was facing before.

Draco began keeping a closer eye on Granger again, but he had to be careful about it, because Zabini seemed to be keeping an eye on him in turn. Damn the other Slytherin. How much did he know? And how did he know? They had in no way been obvious, and they had only been together a couple of times anyway.

He noticed that Granger was pale, she looked tired, and she didn’t eat properly. His certainty about what was wrong grew. There was a whole lot of whispering going around about her condition now. Nobody else was falling ill, and she still didn’t go to the hospital wing. They said that her excuse was ‘ _not everything needs be cured by magic_ ’. She apparently also claimed that she would get well soon and said that people should mind their own business as long as she didn’t miss any classes or infect anyone.

Potter and Weasley looked increasingly harried, which was more than a small consolation to Draco. They didn’t seem to know how to deal with Granger’s strange ‘disease’. He wondered what she’d told them. Since they weren’t beating him up, he supposed she’d lied or told them nothing. Of course, by now people generally thought that one of them was the culprit. That thought almost made him laugh—like either of them would be man enough.

He didn’t like how she seemed to wave him off whenever he tried to corner her about it, though. Didn’t she understand the gravity of the situation? Was she still holding a grudge for the things he’d said and taking it out on him in this way? He supposed he could just disassociate himself from her completely and none would be the wiser. He really should, but… he needed to know what was going on and how she was going to fix it.

*****

“I hear she’s pregnant,” Pansy said in a conspiratorial whisper, when they were hanging out in the common room one evening. “And the father is that blood traitor, Ronald Weasley.”

Draco snorted before he could stop himself, getting an annoyed look from Pansy for ruining her gossip and an amused and interested one from Zabini for… who knew what?

Draco decided to bluff his way out of it. “Weasley?” he asked. “You think he’s man enough to get it up to shag that…”— _wild, hot, passionate, incredibly sexy_ —“Mudblood?”

Zabini looked at him shrewdly and Pansy considered for a second before shrugging. “Anyone can make babies, Draco. Everyone is _so_ going to know how easy she is.” She sniggered.

“Oh, as opposed to you, then?” The words had left his mouth before he even considered what he was saying.

_Crap._

Zabini gaped at him for a second and then went into a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Pansy blanched, staring at Draco. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who normally stayed out of any conversation requiring more than two brain cells, sniggered.

Draco decided that his smooth-talking with the ladies could definitely use some work. He blamed it on his lack of sleep.

Pansy seemed to gather her wits first. Of course, it was limited how much she needed to gather…. “Did you—did you just compare me to her? A _MUDBLOOD_?”

Draco winced slightly at her shrill tone. “No, of course no—”

“Because _maybe_ one could consider some of the _other_ males, she has been hanging around with and _tutoring_ , as likely candidates. How about it, Draco? Am I dating a filthy, cheating blood traitor?” Pansy’s sneer was doing nothing to add to her attractiveness.

Zabini looked as if he had been given a rare treat, and Draco flushed a little. He did not have to fake the anger in his voice. “Any time you want to call it quits, Pansy, just let me know,” he said.

Pansy flushed a dull pink and looked away. No, he hadn’t really thought so. He leaned back with a sigh. It had been worth a shot, though.

Zabini got up from his chair. “Been fun, but got places to be…” Whistling, he left the room.

Draco frowned. “What was that all about?”

“Slug party,” mumbled Pansy. “Excuse me.” She scurried off to her dormitory.

Draco had forgotten all about the Slug Club, which only showed how preoccupied he’d been. He hadn’t liked being snubbed by the fat teacher who his father had always spoken so favorably of, but, in later days, he had been sort of relieved that he didn’t have to juggle social gatherings on top of everything else.

_Granger would be there._

Another reason he was better off without it. Judging by Pansy’s comment, he was already linked a little too comfortably with her.

Sighing, he got up to go to bed. He was so damn tired.

*****

Draco soon gave up trying to corner Granger in a completely private place. He reasoned that it wouldn’t be _too_ odd that he was speaking to her in public since everyone seemed to think that she sometimes helped him with his homework anyway.

Finding her wasn’t a great problem. Apparently, the girls’ bathroom was still a place she liked to hang out in the mornings. Again, he was waiting outside when she emerged, deathly pale, and looking much more frail and thin that he remembered.

He frowned. “Time to go look for some stairs yet?” he asked.

She jumped. “Oh. You again.” She seemed to dismiss his presence entirely, as she was turning to go.

“My, Granger, enough with the flattering attention already. You’re making me blush.”

“Go away,” she said, sounding as tired as he felt. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Denying it won’t make it go away, Granger. You have all the symptoms.”

“Oh, what do you know of these things?”

“Quite a bit, actually. I watched Mother go through it all when I was ten.”

“You don’t have any siblings,” Granger scoffed.

“Well, she lost it, didn’t she?” he mumbled.

“Oh,” she said, immediately looking contrite. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said harshly. “She never liked being… in that way, and so far I’ve seen nothing to like about it either.”

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m really not.”

“Why won’t you go see Madam Pomfrey then?”

“Because I don’t… think…” She paled even more, if possible, and swayed on the spot, reaching out to grab hold of his robes.

“Granger? What’s wrong?” He frowned, putting a hand on her arm to steady her.

“I don’t… feel so…” she breathed, and then she fainted. He caught her without thinking.

“Granger?” he said, shaking her a little. “Hermione? Wake up!” She remained limp. He looked around for help and noticed a few stares.

Shit.

Worse, Potter and Weasley were coming around the corner and saw him holding their friend. He let go of her and she dropped to the floor with a thud, without stirring. He glanced at her lifeless form, and that was all he had time for before he was flung to the wall, something constricting his throat.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” Potter shouted. He was the one holding the wand, while Weasley was kneeling by Granger.

Draco tried to speak but couldn’t get anything out, and he couldn’t breathe either. All he did manage to get out was a couple of incoherent sounds.

“Might want to let up if you want an answer, Harry,” Weasley surprisingly said, not looking away from Granger.

Draco was beginning to see black spots when the pressure finally let up a little and he gasped for air. “Didn’t… anything… fainted…” he choked out.

Weasley had picked Granger up and carried her with little effort. Merlin, she was way too light.

“He might be telling the truth,” Weasley said in a toneless voice, still without looking at Draco. “We know she’s been… off.”

“You’d better be,” Potter snarled. “Or I will personally make sure that you are expelled from Hogwarts so fast that you’ll be gone last year, you worthless piece of shit!”

Draco really couldn’t care less about Potter’s threats; he was trying to see if Granger was even still breathing.

_Please, let her be all right._

Weasley had begun walking away, without a doubt taking her to the hospital wing. Potter followed him, after making a flick of his wand that sent Draco flying through the air and landing on his back a good 20 feet away.

Draco winced. That hurt. He slowly got up and brushed himself off. He looked around and the students that had been scattered about, watching, suddenly got busy looking away and whispering. Right. This would be old news by nightfall. He sighed.

*****

The rest of the day was worse than usual. The gossip of the day was, of course, about how Granger had fainted dead in his arms, and he had a hell of a time trying to explain that one to Pansy. Apparently reflexes didn’t count around Mudbloods.

Zabini didn’t make it any better with his veiled hints. Draco had a sneaking suspicion that something else was going on, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He considered whether Zabini wanted Pansy for himself, but that didn’t add up with his indifference towards her feelings and person. And, clearly, Pansy knew she was free to go if _she_ wanted someone else. No, it had to be something else entirely. Perhaps it was just a burning desire to make Draco’s life miserable, in which case, they were succeeding fairly well.

He had just emerged from his last class of the day, when he saw Potter striding purposefully towards him, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Draco really didn’t feel up to fighting today. “I did not harm her, ok?” he tensely said.

“Lucky for you, that’s what she says,” Potter sneered, and thrust a scroll at him hard, before walking on.

Draco stared at the scroll in his hands with a puzzled expression. _That’s what she says_. She was awake? Relief flooded him, making his knees weak. If she was awake then she’d be ok. He hadn’t killed her.

He told himself that he was being stupid and none of this was his fault in any way, but he couldn’t help but feel that it was. None of this would ever have happened if he had just been able to walk away in the first place. _She_ sure didn’t have any problems staying away.

He suddenly remembered the scroll he was staring at. What was this, then? He unsealed it with a flick of his wand and opened it. It said:

_I told them we were discussing your Arithmancy essay for tomorrow (22 inches on the impact of the use of numerology in The Giant Wars, Professor Vector assigned it last week) and that I promised we’d finish it tonight._

_Remember to bring your books!_

_H. Granger_

Draco frowned. That was singularly unhelpful. She expected him to bring his books to the hospital wing so that she might help him with some stupid essay he had forgotten all about? He shook his head. He’d better go, though, to see what she had to say. Oh, joy, if Pansy found out.

*****

He entered the hospital room Granger was inhabiting an hour later, carrying books as instructed. She was looking so fragile, lying there against the hospital bed with her eyes closed. Weasley was at her side, holding her hand.

Draco had pretty much decided he was in the wrong place and was about to go away again, when her eyes opened and she looked directly at him. “You came,” she said weakly.

Weasley had also looked up resentfully, and Draco knew he _really_ shouldn’t be here. “Of course I came,” he haughtily said. “You led me to believe you could still help me.”

She smiled faintly. “Pull up a chair,” she said. “Ron, it’s all right. It’s just homework. Go get something to eat.”

Against his own better judgement, Draco did as she asked him to, laying down the books beside her on the bed, and pulling out parchment, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ron got up and moved across the room, only to remain standing to keep watch.

“Ron…” Granger said.

“I’m not leaving you alone with him, forget it!” Weasley eyed Draco suspiciously.

Granger sighed almost inaudibly. “You’ll have to excuse him,” she said. “He’s just worried.”

“And he hates my guts,” Draco drily added. “Feeling is mutual, I can assure you.”

“I’m sure that’s not why—”

“Yes, it is. Don’t waste your breath,” he interrupted dismissively.

She frowned at him. Good. Keep her riled. That might give her strength.

“I believe I came here for a reason?” he said, indicating the books but meaning something else entirely.

To his great chagrin, she actually started talking about the assignment. He opened his mouth to object, when he saw her give a tight nod, indicating Weasley. Fine, he could play along. He needed to hand something in anyway.

After about twenty minutes, she dropped her voice to a low whisper and said: “It’s really not what you think.”

Draco shot a look at Weasley, whose eyes had glazed over. “Then what is it?”

Hermione flushed a little. “I thought it was the flu, but it turned out to be some magical virus…. They think I wasn’t careful enough when I went to visit Hagrid last time, and I might have touched something to contract it. Hagrid, of course, is immune himself, so he didn’t know…”

“You mean to say,” Draco hissed. “That you are here now because of that moronic half-breed’s blundering?”

“Don’t call Hagrid a—”

“I’ll call him whatever I want,” he whispered ferociously, trying to keep his voice down so Weasley wouldn’t notice. Suddenly something hit him. “Wait! Does this mean that… that you’re not…”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I don’t know why you didn’t believe me the first three times… I told you about the charm…”

For the second time that day, relief hit him and consumed him completely. It was all just a stupid virus. “Why didn’t you go see Madam Pomfrey sooner?” he asked, a little angry that he’d been put through all this.

Again, she flushed a little. “I thought my own immune system would win. Apparently that’s not the case with magical maladies.”

“Merlin, Granger!” he said. “These things can put you in a coma for life if they don’t outright kill you!”

“I know,” she softly said. “They told me.”

“Also, your reputation is ruined no matter what,” he informed her. “The school already made up its mind.”

She smiled a little wryly. “I suppose it is,” she replied. “But I assume more boys will want to date me now.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh, which definitely got Weasley’s attention.

“No, this is all wrong,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Are you even listening to me? Why would the number _four_ signify the third attack? And no, it’s not _three_ either. I swear, you used to be better at this.”

Draco allowed her to go on for a little while longer.

Initially, he had wondered why Potter and Weasley had accepted her wanting to do homework with him, but, of course, she lived for dusty old books and boring facts, didn’t she? They probably even thought he wouldn’t like taking instructions from her.

He wondered if they knew the other, more passionate, side of her.

Suddenly Granger’s voice faltered, and she was looking pale, exhausted, and breathless. Draco frowned. Did she have no sense of self-preservation? She should have kicked him out long ago. For someone that smart, she really was kind of stupid.

“Right,” he said, closing up his books. “You won’t be of any more use to me today.”

“I’ll be fine, in a seh—in a second,” she whispered. She looked so weak it scared him. She _would_ be all right, wouldn’t she?

“Don’t count on it, Granger.” He stood up. “How long do you plan on having your holiday?”

“A couple of days…” she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.

“A week,” Weasley hoarsely said, sending Draco a baleful glare. “At least.”

Draco frowned. Curse her for being so stubborn that she needed that amount of time to recover. “A week?” he said reproachfully. “Now I _know_ you’re doing this just to spite me.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “Come back in a couple of days,” she mumbled sleepily. “We’ll have a look at your other essay.”

“What other essay?”

“The one you were supposed to turn in last time….” Her breath deepened and she was asleep.

_Had she just said she wanted to see him again, or was this really all about homework?_

Draco stood looking at her pale, sleeping form for a few seconds before realizing that Weasley was still glaring at him. Donning his most annoying smirk, he said, “Until next time, Weasel!” and then sauntered off, as Madam Pomfrey came hurrying into the room, shooing off Weasley as well, and checking on her patient.


	7. Chapter 7

It was with her cheeks red, her head held high, and her eyes sparkling defiance that Hermione made her entrance at dinner that first night out of the hospital wing. She had had breakfast in the sickroom and she had missed lunch due to some last minute catching up in Ancient Runes, but now she had no more excuses to avoid meal time in the Great Hall.

She knew about the rumors about why she had been gone. Naturally, nobody believed the story about the magical virus. Of course they didn’t—it was the truth! What fun was truth when there were lies to be spread?

The all-round reaction at dinner wasn’t as devastating as she had feared, though. There were a few whispers and giggles as she made her way down to the Gryffindor table, but as a whole, she seemed to be old news already.

She sighed and almost sagged with relief. Without meaning to, she glanced at the Slytherin table as she passed, but the blond boy her eyes searched out was deep in conversation and hadn’t even noticed her. Reminding herself that this was a good thing, she went over to her friends and sat down with her back to the room.

Malfoy _had_ come to visit her twice while she had been in the hospital wing. The first time was after he’d received her note, and the second time a couple of days later. The first time, he had seemed really worried about her, but the second time, he had been his usual arrogant, annoying, and offensive self. He had had poor Harry in such a snit that Madam Pomfrey had threatened to throw him out for disturbing the peace. Malfoy had been the very picture of innocence until she turned her back and then he had openly gloated. Hermione hadn’t known whether to be annoyed or amused so she had been a little bit of both—mostly annoyed, of course.

When her voice had faltered, and she had struggled for breath, however, he had made an excuse, collected his books, and left. He hadn’t visited her again after that, and at the time, she didn’t know what to make of it.

She still was far from sure.

*****

The next few days, Hermione spent trying to figure out how to get a word with Malfoy. It wasn’t that she was terribly averse to speaking to him in public; no, that was his problem. It was more that she didn’t fancy his friends listening in on what she had to say, and asking for a private word in front of them would be just as bad. 

He still appeared terribly tired and haunted and much more serious than she would ever have thought he could be. He surrounded himself with other Slytherins and only occasionally did he seem to revert back to his old self. On one such occasion, he hexed a second-year Ravenclaw boy, just for being the only other non-Slytherin about. Except, Hermione had been about, hidden, considering her next move. After seeing the hex, though, she had turned on her heel, appalled with herself for wanting the attentions of such a bully.

Yet, most days he’d just seem to sink into deep thoughts and ignore what was going on around him. He would look human and vulnerable, and she would have an incredible urge to go to him again.

Hermione eventually ended up concluding that she did need to talk to him, and her best shot would be when they had Arithmancy together, as none of their close friends took that. Yet at the time of the resolution, that meant waiting for days for the chance. Each time she saw him after that chipped away at her courage again, but it couldn’t be helped. He simply didn’t allow himself to be alone these days, and she _needed_ that talk.

He seemed to be as indifferent as he had been before she had taken ill. She reminded herself that he hadn’t been indifferent while she _was_ ill, but… perhaps that only showed that he really was human. Perhaps she didn’t appeal to him anymore. Why would she, anyway? Perhaps she should just let it go….

It was during break, and people were standing about in small groups, talking. Hermione had abandoned Harry and Ron to allow them to talk about Quidditch, while making her able to retain her sanity. Malfoy was lounging on one of the castle’s numerous oversized windowsills, gazing pensively at the dark and stormy sky, not even seeming to notice the bickering Crabbe and Goyle at his side. He looked oddly lonely.

Hermione considered if she should go up to him now. After all, those two half-wits he always lugged around with him hardly posed a threat. Yet, she couldn’t seem to find the courage. She was Gryffindor, damn it, what was she if not courageous? She debated with herself for several minutes, but in the end her nerve failed her.

She was stupid, anyway, for inviting all this hurt into her life just for physical pleasure. Maybe it really was time she started dating other boys, or rather: date boys at all. Malfoy and she weren’t even dating; they were sneaking around behind the backs of everyone who cared about them. For what? A quick, passionate tumble every few weeks? It really wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t.

Swiftly, she turned to go, bumping straight into Pansy.

“Mooning over my boyfriend again, are you?” the other girl viciously said, someone sniggering behind her. Oh, lovely, she had brought an audience. “Too bad for you he doesn’t _do_ Mudbloods.”

Oh, he had _done_ a Mudblood, all right. “As usual,” Hermione said in her most bored voice. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

She made as to go around the girls, but Pansy blocked her. “Don’t you think I’ve seen you looking at him?” she haughtily said. “Don’t you think everyone knows? You’re nothing but a big joke, Granger.”

Hermione knew all blood drained from her face, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Most likely Pansy was just spewing bile, but what if there really was something to what she was saying? What if there was talking?

“You are seriously deluded,” she managed to coldly say. “And one can only wonder what’s making you so insecure.” And with that, she finally managed to flee.

*****

Hermione did not dare consider approaching Malfoy again, or even look at him. She knew she let Pansy win, but it was a battle she’d lost long before that. Malfoy had shown a clear tendency of pursuing her when he wanted her and now… he didn’t. She didn’t know why that thought hurt her, but she supposed that was how it felt when the other person tired of you first, nothing more. 

She took to spending more and more time at the library. It was the one place she was sure to find peace and quiet and no Draco Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson in sight. It was her safe haven. Nothing had ever been able to calm her quite like the look, feel, and even smell of books, and now she took full advantage of that.

So, when, one evening, someone pulled out the chair next to hers, and she looked up to see Malfoy, she was shocked, to say the least.

“I need your help,” he said without preamble, dropping some scrolls on the table and sitting down.

 _Schoolwork?_ So that was what she was good for now, was it?

“Oh, yay, lucky me,” she drily said, looking back at her book, willing him to go away and leave her alone.

“I figured you’d say that,” he replied. “I’ll pay you.”

Hermione stiffened. Of all the insults she’d ever had to hear coming from him, this was… well, in the top five at least. “I don’t need your money,” she said.

“What _do_ you need, then?”

Hermione felt anger surging through her. So _now_ he cared what she wanted? “I need you to get out of my sight and stay that way,” she ground out, shooting a baleful glance at him and very much meaning it at that moment.

He winced. “That can be arranged to some extent,” he replied, his calm voice belying the involuntary expression. “But I really do need your help.”

Why should she care what he needed? He could rot for all she cared! “Why?” she heard herself ask.

“I’ve been…” he seemed to search for words, “rather negligent with my schoolwork lately; and now they threaten to expel me. I thought they’d only have me repeat a year at the most.”

Hermione stared at him, aghast. “So, you’re being a lazy prat and want to pay me to do all your work for you?”

He looked a little relieved that she understood. “Yes. So, will you do it?”

She stood up; her chair almost toppling over with the force as it was pushed back. “No. You will have to pay someone else.” She turned and left the library. Of _all_ the scenarios she had played in her head of finally talking to him again, this one hadn’t even been close to being an option.

He caught up with her a few seconds later. “It has to be you,” he said.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because you take the same classes as I do, and you’re the smartest in our year, and you can make it look like it’s my work.” Malfoy looked as if what he’d said was perfectly reasonable, and Hermione was annoyed with herself for being hurt by his proposal and his logic. So this was really all she’d been reduced to: Brains for rent. She supposed she should be grateful that her brains were all he was offering to buy.

“I will _not_ cheat for you,” she snarled.

“No, only _with_ me,” he mumbled.

She stopped dead in her tracks, unable to recall why she had ever been attracted to this poor excuse for a wizard.

He winced again, realizing his mistake. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did,” she coolly said, wondering why she was still even talking to him.

“No, I didn’t,” he firmly insisted. “Look, I’m desperate, ok? I can’t be kicked out. Name your price.”

A world of dizzying possibilities entered her mind. Just how far could she push the great Draco Malfoy before he balked?

“No more pushing people around or calling anyone Mudblo—”

“Done!”

She looked at him for a second. He really was desperate, wasn’t he? He seemed to have realized that he had given himself away too easily, because his cheeks were slightly pink.

“You’d have to treat me with respect.”

“Always.”

“That includes keeping your girlfriend in line.”

He frowned at that. “Pansy? What—?”

“Never mind what. Just make sure she doesn’t annoy me anymore.” She couldn’t tell him what had happened; it was mortifying to say the least.

He nodded, looking only slightly curious.

“You’d have to make a real effort to catch up again and do part of the work yourself.”

He grudgingly nodded again.

She groped for some more terms; she was letting him get off too easily. Inspiration hit. “And be nice to Harry and Ron—”

“Now wait a—”

“—and Hagrid too.”

He looked positively horror-struck.

She almost grinned. Almost. “And you’d have to keep it all up until you don’t need me anymore.”

His eyes glinted dangerously in the way she had come to be cautious of.

“ _And_ ,” she hurriedly added, “you’d have to forget all about getting even with me.”

“I wasn’t thinking of getting even,” he silkily said.

“Oh, yes, you were,” she said. “You’re quite obvious sometimes.”

His eyes heated. “So are you. You know there’s no way I can agree to all your terms.”

She crossed her arms. “You can. You just won’t.”

“No, I really can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said through clenched teeth, stepping closer to her, “people would question why I’d change so much and either they would guess the truth, and we’d _both_ get expelled for cheating, or _worse_ : everyone would think we’re dating.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. She hadn’t even considered that. Had she? No. She’d merely wanted to push his buttons. She supposed she had succeeded in finding the point at which he balked, though—being associated with her on a personal level.

Besides, he was standing too close for comfort.

“Fine,” she said, stepping back and away from him. “You wouldn’t have to be nice to my friends.” She pouted, a little disappointed at having her fun thwarted.

“You’ll do it, then?” he asked. “If I agree to the other bits?”

Hermione considered. She shouldn’t. He was spoiled, overbearing and all-round unpleasant. Hogwarts would be much better without him. “I suppose,” she said, noting how relieved he looked. And grateful. “On one more condition.”

“What?” he carefully asked.

“I get one free request. At any time I may ask you for any one thing and you will _have_ to do or give it.”

He looked as if he’d just swallowed something that wouldn’t go down. “If possible,” he finally said. “Only if at all possible without—without risking my life.”

She rolled her eyes. What exactly did he think she’d ask him to do? “Done,” she said, turning to go back to the library. “Follow me.”

“Where?” he asked.

“I left my things back at the library,” she said with a faint blush. She had been so angry and so eager to get away from him that she’d left her bag in her haste.

When they got there, she pulled out a parchment, scribbled down the conditions, tapped the parchment a few times with her wand and handed it to him. “Sign this.”

He frowned, probably remembering the incident with Marietta Edgecombe the previous year. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

She laughed before she could stop herself. Apparently that was answer enough for him, and with a dark look in her direction he signed it.

“Tell me something…” he said, once she’d signed the scroll too and rolled it up. “Why are you so mad at me?”

Hermione stopped her motions. How was she supposed to answer that one without suffering an acute loss of dignity? “Your proposal—”

“Was nothing you wouldn’t expect from me and I did get you to agree, didn’t I? Think of another excuse, Granger.”

“It’s not an excuse!”

He made a disbelieving sound.

Oh, this was not at all the conversation she wanted to have. Not that she wanted any conversation with him anymore.

The library was closing, so she grabbed her bag and left, hoping he’d get the hint.

Perhaps he did get the hint, but, in that case, he chose to ignore it. “Your lack of response is very telling,” he said conversationally.

“I did respond. You chose to ignore it.” Hermione sped up, but Malfoy only lengthened his stride to keep up.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“That the world revolves around you?” she guessed.

He smiled and said, “I think you missed me.”

Hermione stumbled, narrowly righting herself before she fell. “I guessed correctly, then,” she said a bit hoarsely to her own ears.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a dark room and cornered her. He was so close, and the darkness made it feel even more intimate. Why did the school have to be so big and have so many empty rooms?

Her heart was pounding with excitement, desire, and a little fear. Fear that this was a game, and he was really just out to expose and humiliate her; yet she didn’t even consider reaching for her wand.

“What are you doing?” she asked warily.

“All you had to do, Granger… was ask,” he said, before bending to meet her lips.

He had won before his lips even touched hers. He was right, of course. She _had_ missed him dreadfully, and she couldn’t say no to this, even if it did mean his friends jumping out of the dark to laugh at her. Her eyes flickered to the darkness behind him. No… there didn’t seem to be anyone hiding.

Then there was the soft brush of lips against lips, and she forgot all about mistrust and ridicule. His one hand was on her waist, while the other one was at the nape of her neck, gently holding her in place. His lips returned to massage hers and, with a sigh, she gave in and put her arms around his neck. What harm was there in a little kiss, anyway?

Encouraged, he lifted his hand from her neck, and, softly stroking his thumb over her lips, he parted them. She playfully bit down on it and imagined that she saw a flash of raw need in his eyes. It was quite silly, of course; it was much too dark to see. Yet when his lips returned to hers, it was with much more force.

She moaned slightly, when he pinned her between his body and the wall, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. She pulled him closer, wanting more, and he obliged, pressing harder against her without breaking the kiss. His tongue stroked hers, coaxing it to play.

Hermione felt almost dizzy. Grabbing a firm hold of his shoulders, she pulled him closer still and returned the kiss with enthusiasm, letting her tongue stroke back and enter his mouth. She was feeling extremely gratified when he groaned into her mouth and the kiss turned wild and hungry.

He hoisted her up, and she immediately wrapped her legs around him, making him groan again. Things were rapidly spinning out of control, and she knew they were about to have sex, right here in an abandoned class room only a few doors down from the library. She didn’t care. She did care. She didn’t want him to stop. She had missed him—missed _this_ —too much.

He broke the kiss, brushing his lips down her neck, flicking out his tongue to taste her. She sighed, letting her head fall back to give him easier access.

He pulled back.

“We shouldn’t,” he said huskily.

_No, we shouldn’t. Since when did that stop you?_

“Oh,” was what she said, feeling her face heat at his rejection. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Not here,” he continued. “Will you come with me to a better place? Willingly, I mean?”

For a few seconds, she didn’t quite comprehend.

“Granger?” he asked. “If I have to, I _will_ take you here, and, this time, you _won’t_ deny me any pleasure.”

He… wanted her?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded. “After you kiss me that way you can’t be surprised that I—”

She had pressed herself against him and closed his mouth with another kiss.

“I’ll come with you,” she softly said.

For a second he stared disbelievingly at her, and for the first time it occurred to her that maybe he had had his own misgivings about her. Then, without a word, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. She could feel the urgency in him and it matched her own. They both needed this. Desperately.

“Wait,” she said when he would go one way. “Room of Requirement is the other way.”

She noticed a slight clenching of his jaws before he said, “We can’t use it. I smashed it.”

“You _what_?”

“Smashed it. It’s useless now.”

“But why?”

He shook his head. “Does it matter? Is there any way you can disguise yourself?” He had begun walking again, dragging her after him.

She really wanted to know why he’d smashed the room with the big comfortable bed, but she recognized that he wouldn’t tell her. She sighed. “Why do I need disguise?”

“I’m taking you to my room.”

A shock went through her. “No!” She dug her heels in, forcing him to stop again.

“I want you in a bed, Granger, and we won’t be able to get _me_ to _yours_ , so we’ll go to _mine_.”

“What? Slytherins have private bedrooms now?”

“Of course not.” He frowned at her.

“So… you expect me to sleep with you in front of your friends?”

He actually grinned. “As entertaining as that sounds, Granger, I thought we might close the drapes.”

She groaned. “No, they’ll know.”

“They won’t know.”

“Of course, they will!”

He sighed impatiently. “I always charm my drapes so I can’t be heard or disturbed. If we can get you in, they won’t know.”

She frowned a little at that. “Why would you do that?”

“Merlin, Granger, do you have to question _everything_?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied, pushing out her chin to look at him defiantly.

“Why? Why can’t you just trust me a little bit?”

“Trust _you_ , Malfoy?” she asked incredulously. “Since when do I have any reason to?”

He looked really annoyed with her. “Curse you for needing reasons; you’re too smart for your own damn good. Can’t you just accept the fact that I have no reason to lie to you about this?”

“I saw no reason for you to lie to me about sleeping with Pansy. And if you want to sleep with me now, what’s these past weeks been but a lie about that too?”

“You _did_ miss me!” He looked almost stunned at the revelation.

Hermione had to fight back a mortified blush. “I… only wondered…” she muttered.

“I thought that’s what you wanted! After last time… You fought me and you said it wouldn’t happen again. I was respecting your wishes. Well, until today, anyway.”

She felt light-headed and swayed a little on the spot. _He had been respecting her wishes._

“You ok, Granger? You’re not getting sick again, are you?” He steadied her with a hand. “Because I might just have to take you anyway, and it would be really gross.”

She swatted his hand away. “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern… or lack thereof.” But she wasn’t really offended by his crass statement. She couldn’t be. Not when he’d just said such a wonderful thing.

“Enough of this,” he said. “Come with me. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

She nodded. If he had asked her to jump from the Astronomy Tower right now, she probably would have agreed. She took a step back, squeezed her eyes shut, and, concentrating hard, she tapped her own forehead. Opening her eyes, she looked at Malfoy who was staring at her.

 _Crud. Didn’t it work?_ She looked at her hand. Yes, it had worked, she was seeing the floor instead of Hermione-shaped fingers. She tried walking a few steps to the side, but his eyes still followed her.

“Did I miss a spot?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No… how did you know how to do that? Disillusionment charms are NEWT level and very advanced even at that. And to disappear this completely is incredibly rare.”

Hermione tried sneaking behind him, but he turned with her, eyes still on her.

“After Harry…“ She paused. No, he didn’t need to know that. “I’d heard about it, and I read about it, and I practiced it. Why can you see me, if I did so well?” She was a little peeved that she hadn’t done perfectly.

“I know you’re there and I see ripples when you move,” he said, clearly staying focused on her. “If you don’t move when someone looks straight at you, you should be fine.” He grabbed her hand, fumbling a bit before he found it. “Come on, let’s go.” He dragged her off with him.

They were really going to his room. He led her down several flights of stairs, and it wasn’t until they were standing in front of the wall allowing entrance to the Slytherin common room that she realized she’d never been here before.

He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _Mudblood_ before the wall opened. He let go of her hand and strolled inside. Hermione’s heart was lodged in her throat, and she felt sure that she couldn’t do this after all. Still, she hurried inside, before the opening closed again.

Malfoy was making his way through the common room, when an annoying female voice rang out.

“Draco! Aren’t you going to come sit with me for a bit?” Pansy, of course. Hermione could hardly see how he’d get out of this one. Botheration.

“No…” he replied. “I’m really not in the mood for your incessant prattling tonight.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at his rudeness and she accidentally let out a giggle. Hurriedly, she clapped a hand over her mouth and looked around her to see if anyone had noticed. The room was almost empty. Was it that late already? Only Pansy, Zabini, and a couple of boys she didn’t know were there. It was unbelievably lucky that none of them seemed to have heard her.

Malfoy disappeared through a door at the other end, and Hermione hurried to keep up. Soon, she was in what had to be his dormitory. It didn’t look all that different from the Gryffindor dormitories, except it wasn’t round and in a tower, but rather square, and underground, and the bedding was green instead of red, and… ok, maybe it did look a little different.

He walked to the bed farthest from the door and turned, frowning in her general direction. Oh, right. He couldn’t see her now, could he? She stood stock-still, wondering what he’d do.

“I know you’re there,” he said very softly, making her realize that others had already gone to bed. “I heard you in the common room. Not very discreet of you, you’ll have to do better.” He motioned for her to get on the bed.

She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked.

As soon as he saw the bed move, signaling her compliance, he closed the drapes and joined her, casting some charms, and letting out a small floating ball of light from a box to make them able to see better. Hermione absent-mindedly decided she wanted one of those floating lights; it would make reading in bed so much easier.

“You can speak freely now,” he said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like you to become visible again. I’m not _that_ kinky.”

She hesitantly did as asked, rendering herself visible. “Are you sure it’s ok? Someone might decide to come and talk to you or see what you’re doing....”

“Yeah, the last time that happened, Goyle was in the hospital wing for two days with boils. I don’t think it’ll happen again soon.”

“Grumpy in the morning, are you?”

“Why don’t you find out?” he asked, pulling her closer.

His lips were a wonderful mix of soft and firm as they caressed and nibbled at hers. She could feel his barely leashed want, as he slid his tongue over her lower lip, tasting her, prodding her to open up for him. _Oh, my._ His tongue penetrated her mouth, only to tease her and withdraw, breaking the kiss. She groaned. She wanted more. He kissed her again, only to withdraw once more. She tried to make him stay by holding him in place, but he was a relentless tease, withdrawing from her every time it was getting good.

Finally frustrated, she rolled them over, so she was straddling him and bent to kiss him on her terms. She had waited for this for too long, damn it. She didn’t miss the look of surprise in his eyes and couldn’t help but smirk a little. She traced his lips with her tongue, and this time, she was the one to withdraw when he tried to lure it into his mouth. She felt her belt coming undone and his hands on her legs, sliding up her robes, but she didn’t let it distract her... too much.

At last, she let her tongue dip in between his lips to find his and he groaned, grabbing her waist under her robes and pressing up against her, leaving her with no doubt as to his level of need. His need fuelled hers, and she kissed him deeper and ground against him, making him gasp and close his eyes in an expression of pained bliss.

She pulled back and smiled, enjoying her effect.

“Don’t stop,” he said gutturally. “Never. Stop.” His eyes were pleading and commanding at the same time.

He moved his hands up her sides, taking her robes with him, pulling them off her, and throwing them aside. She fumbled a bit with his belt, until she finally got it open and pulled it off him in one swift motion.

The next thing she knew, she was back under him, tugging at his robes, while he was crushing her lips with his and claiming the inside of her mouth with his tongue. She finally got the robes off him, making him make an impatient sound, as he had to break the kiss to get them over his head. Now the amount of fabric between them had lessened considerably, and as he ground against her, she moaned at the hardness of him and the memory of exactly how good that felt inside of her.

He struggled for a moment with her bra, until she showed him how this one opened in the front and then it was open, and he was staring greedily at her breasts. He lifted a hand to caress one breast, and she pushed against him, making his touch firmer. He bent to stroke the other breast with his tongue, and she moaned desperately. He gently bit down on her soft flesh, making her whimper and unable to stay still. This was too much; she was feeling feverish.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him up to violate his mouth. He indulged her, temporarily soothing her need, before he slid his lips down her throat and found the exact tender spot at the base of her neck he had uncovered weeks and weeks before. He sucked it hard, making her cry out and buck against him, digging her nails into his back. He shuddered against, her and she knew it had to be now.

“I need you,” he whispered, echoing her thoughts, while slightly nibbling her ear. “ _Now._ ”

Her reply was to grab his boxers by the band and carefully pull them down off him. He kicked them off and responded in kind by removing her knickers. Again, he was looking at somewhere she wished he wouldn’t—it was embarrassing. Yet, at the same time, the look of awe on his face was worth it.

She pulled at him, wanting him to cover her body completely with his, and he complied. She slid her hands up and down his back, wanting to feel more of his skin, and wrapped her legs around him to urge him to go on. It had been too long. She dug in her nails again, and he made a choked sound and surged forward, filling her in one single thrust.

Hermione gasped and for a moment time seemed to stop as their eyes locked and he was stretching her, filling her completely. Then time rushed back, and he closed his eyes on a groan, and started moving inside of her, withdrawing and pushing back into her at a steady pace.

It felt too good for words, and Hermione grabbed hold of him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Merlin, Granger,” he groaned before long, pressing her harder into the mattress. “You feel so good... so...” He cut off with a gasp, when she bit down on his neck. She had discovered that he liked this, and, true enough, he was now thrusting faster, harder, deeper, just as she had hoped.

Hermione knew that she would come soon, that this time would be as hurried and desperate as the other times had been. It was too good, too intense, too powerful for her to hold back. “More...” she moaned. “Harder!”

His eyes widened a little, and he made an unintelligible sound, before complying, taking her so hard that the bed creaked, and she was certain the whole school must hear. She didn’t care. All she cared about was the feeling of him pounding into her and her orgasm being almost within her grasp, almost, almost, almost...

She cried out in wild abandon as the first wave hit her, making her jerk and convulse violently as he continued taking her relentlessly. She didn’t believe she’d ever felt such intense pleasure before, not ever. Another wave hit and another, until she was sobbing, and he gradually slowed down to let her breathe.

She opened her eyes to look at him. He was looking at her with wonder, ecstasy, and unfulfilled need plain on his face. He’d held back to watch her come, and now he was trembling, brushing little kisses on her face, her eyes, her lips, waiting for her to be able to take the force of what he needed to do, but clearly having a hard time restraining himself.

She felt the strain in his every muscle and she loved that she had that effect on him. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered. “You know what you want.”

With a strangled sound, he started moving again, hard and fast, burying his head in her neck, while she held him close, urging him forward with her body, clawing at him in her enjoyment, until she felt him tense, thrusting deep, and holding her still, groaning loudly, as he with great shudders reached his own climax.

Finally he was spent and was lying unmoving on top of her, collapsed, his breathing labored, while she stroked his back. She’d had no idea of the pleasure one could get just from making another person come.

She listened to his breathing and felt his heartbeat thumping against her as both gradually steadied.

Finally she asked, “So… was last time better?”

He chuckled and nuzzled her neck, but didn’t make a move to get off her. She didn’t mind at all. “Hell no, not even close,” he mumbled against her ear.

She smiled. No, she didn’t think so.

“Never deny me again,” he whispered, easing some of his weight off her and kissing her. “No matter what your reasons, it’s not worth it.”

Right now she was inclined to agree with him.

*****

Hermione awoke with a jolt the next morning to find that someone was moving around, talking on the other side of the curtains. Someone male. What were they doing in her room? She frowned. And why was her bedding green? And why was she lying closely nestled in the arms of someone else…

The memories of last night hit her.

_She was still in Malfoy’s bed._

She gasped as someone moved close by, angrily accusing someone else for snoring all night. She shrank back towards the warm body behind her, as if he could save her from being seen if they chose that moment to peek inside.

She shot a glance at Malfoy. He was still sleeping and looking more peaceful than she had ever seen him. That _cretin_. He had been the one that insisted she didn’t go last night, the one who had made her lie down with him, and the one who had threatened to silence her if she didn’t stop objecting. _Now_ look where it had brought them. She must have been really worn out to sleep through the night like this.

She didn’t even know how late it was, but since these people hadn’t gone down to breakfast yet she assumed it wasn’t that late. Unless it was because breakfast was over. She groaned, immediately clapping a hand in front of her mouth.

The movement roused the sleeping male behind her, and he gathered her closer and nuzzled her neck. “What’s wrong?” he asked groggily.

“Shush,” she fiercely whispered. “People.”

He laughed. He actually had the audacity to laugh. “Don’t you think that if they were going to hear anything, they would have heard plenty last night, hmm?”

“But I can hear _them_ ,” she whispered, slightly pink from the memory of all the noise they had made.

“Yes…” he mumbled, losing interest in the conversation as the blanket fell away to reveal her breasts, and only resuming on a sigh, as she covered herself up again. “I didn’t make it work both ways. I figured I might want to know if a dragon got loose in here or something.”

“Where are my clothes? And my wand?” She struggled to sit.

He let go of her and rolled onto his back with another sigh. “Your clothes are right there,” he gestured to the foot of the bed, “I collected them after you’d fallen asleep.”

She had fallen asleep first? Hurriedly, Hermione grabbed her clothes and got dressed before he could change his mind about letting her go.

“Come tomorrow,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Not that again!” He sat up and looked at her irritably. He looked endearingly mussed this morning, she noticed.

“No, I really can’t. I’m going to the Slug Christmas Party.” Hermione tried to untangle her curls with her fingers, but soon gave it up for a lost cause and resorted to using her wand.

“Oh, Christmas…” Malfoy frowned as if he’d forgotten what time of year it was. “Well, come after?”

“I don’t know how late it will be, and my date might think it odd if I leave him early to go be with my lover.” Hermione had been wondering if she should even tell him this, but now it had just slipped out. She eyed his reaction warily.

“ _Date?_ What game are we playing now?” he asked, looking a little put out.

Hermione shot him a frosty glance. “No game. I have a date.” She was telling the truth; she’d asked the other boy out when she’d thought Malfoy and she had been done fooling around.

“Is this about getting back at me for Pansy? Because I—”

“It’s not about you _at all_!” she interrupted. “I decided I wanted to bring a date, I asked someone and he accepted.” Hermione was getting really annoyed. What was _up_ with his egotism? It wasn’t as if she could ever have asked _him_!

“Yeah?” he asked. “Who is it, then? It’s that Weasel, isn’t it? He’s probably right miffed that his friends and his sister get to go while he—”

“Are you insinuating that Ron is the only one who would go on a date with me?” Hermione was seriously angry—and a little hurt—now. “Because I can assure you that plenty of boys—”

“That’s not what I said!” he hurried to inject. “I just haven’t seen you around that many boys, and he does seem to be making moony eyes at you.”

Not mollified in the least, she checked that everyone was gone, pulled the drapes open and got out to put on her boots.

“Don’t be like that, Hermione…” he said, looking bewildered. “I’m sure you could have your pick—”

“For your information,” she interrupted angrily. “I have never been turned down for a date. I even dated Viktor Krum for God’s sakes! Just because you are shallow enough to not want to be seen with a _Mudblood_ doesn’t mean that everyone else is. I am going to the party with Cormac McLaggen, and you know what? I’ll—no; _he’ll_ have a damn good time!”

Malfoy was staring at her, clearly speechless at her outburst, as she tapped her head, rendering herself invisible before braving the now half-full Slytherin common room.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco fell back on the bed and stared at the canopy. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had done wrong this time, but if he knew women, she’d probably shout it at him the next time he got hold of her. It was exasperating the way she seemed to refuse to stay on good terms with him, but if she wanted him to fight her, he would. 

He would do almost anything for another night like this.

Yesterday, he had finally found an excuse sound enough for his own mind to go seek her out. There were plenty of underlings about who he could bully into doing his work for free, but she was the best, and of course, he’d only settle for the best. That, at least, was what he told those who questioned his decision.

Even if she did come at a very steep price.

The coursework had never been the real reason, anyway. He had wanted to talk to her, plain and simple.

Her hostility had surprised him. He didn’t remember doing anything particularly objectionable to her for a long time. He’d been a bloody saint and had barely even looked wrong at any of the rabble that she so loved to defend. He supposed there was no winning with her.

However… last night he _had_ felt like he’d won. Not at any of their little games but just… won. For a few hours, he had been free of fear and worry and for the first time in months he had slept like a baby.

He desperately wanted that again.

When he had suggested that she missed him, he hadn’t really believed his own words. It was just an excuse to be near her, to keep her attentions on him. It had been quite stupid, really. Then he had decided that he wanted another taste of her, and he had had himself convinced that it would be for the greater good, because then she’d slap him, he’d recover from this illogical obsession, and everyone would be happier.

But she hadn’t slapped him, had she? She’d kissed him back, setting him on fire and feeding his never-ending longing for more.

And she’d come with him to his room.

And she’d given him more than he’d ever dared to ask for.

And, for a short time, he’d actually thought life was still worth living.

And _now_ she’d decided to storm off in a huff because he asked her a few questions about her so-called date for tomorrow.

_Women._

What was up with that? If she needed more, all she had to do was ask. It wasn’t _him_ who had decided that they shouldn’t do this more often; in fact, he felt quite certain that he’d be up to doing this every single night, should she allow him to. That thought made him smile.

*****

Recognizing the pattern of their little game, Draco didn’t even bother trying to try and seek Granger out again that day. He had his non-caring act down to perfection, and he didn’t mind utilizing it. It was better if he ignored her most of the time anyway; Pansy was being a pain about him being around her. 

‘ _Why do you need the services of a filthy Mudblood?_ ’ she’d asked. ‘ _There are plenty of others you could ask._ ’

‘ _What?_ ’ he’d replied in his most arrogant voice. ‘ _You’d do my homework for me virtually for free and even get me an Acceptable in Arithmancy? I didn’t know you were so talented._ ’

‘ _There are others. You could get Harper to do it._ ’

‘ _Harper isn’t even in our year! How’s he supposed to do NEWT prep when he hasn’t even taken his OWLs yet?_ ’

‘ _So you’re claiming she’s the only one with the skills to do it, is that it?_ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ he’d said patiently as if talking to a child. ‘ _I’m saying she’s the best and I know how to make her._ ’

‘ _How?_ ’ Her eyes had glinted suspiciously, and, for a brief second, Draco had wondered what she had guessed.

‘ _Haven’t you noticed?_ ’ he’d mocked. ‘ _She’s the champion of the underdog. I lay off them and she does my work._ ’

‘ _It can’t be that easy._ She had shaken her head in disbelief.

‘ _Oh, but it is…_ ’

He rubbed his eyes wearily as he recognized that if Pansy was getting suspicious, then this game was getting dangerous indeed. But he wasn’t about to stop—not now! No, he simply had to be more careful, that was all. Perhaps being a little nicer to Pansy would help in pulling the wool over her eyes…

He didn’t want to be nicer to her, though. He didn’t want to answer to her either. He wanted to be rid of her. He supposed he’d liked her once; no, he _knew_ he’d liked her once. Perhaps even more than liked. But now she was nothing more than a nagging nuisance who didn’t want to get the hint that they were through. He knew he couldn’t be the one to break it off, because she would be relentless in her quest to find out why, and he could _not_ chance being caught with Granger.

Granger wasn’t even the reason he wanted to get rid of Pansy, which would be funny if it wasn’t so damn inconvenient. He’d been tiring of Pansy before that, even then trying to hint at her that they might be better off without each other. That’s when she had slept with him, to keep him from dumping her, and, damn him, but it had worked.

Sex seemed to be like a drug to him; he simply couldn’t say no. Only after he’d had Granger, had he been able to turn Pansy down. Glumly, he wondered if he’d be like this all of his life, or if he’d ever learn to control himself better.

When he laid down to sleep that night, he realized the consequence of bringing Granger to his own bed. He was assaulted by her scent still on his pillow and the recollections of what had happened. Feeling himself rise to the occasion, he groaned loudly. This was going to be an even longer night than usual. Still, this was better than what normally preoccupied him…

*****

When the day for the Slug Christmas Party arrived, the whole school was abuzz. Draco failed to see what the big deal was, but Zabini was looking smug as ever. Rumor had it he was taking Marilyn Shaw, a rather stunning fifth year who hadn’t been too keen on incurring Pansy’s wrath when Draco had come on to her. He’d known that was the reason, because she’d wasted no time in telling him so. Her outspokenness had almost even amused him at the time. He supposed it had been smart of her, though, for Pansy was already jealous of Shaw’s popularity with the boys. 

It figured Zabini would be taking her to the party, because aside from being one of the prettiest girls at school, she was also pureblood _and_ Slytherin, which essentially made her perfect. Sometimes Draco wondered if he would have gotten over his obsession with Granger if Shaw had been more willing to see things his way—Merlin, would life have been much simpler then, regardless of Pansy’s wrath.

As it were, however, Draco was stuck lusting after the most imperfect quarry he could have chosen. Well, of course, she could also have been ugly and Hufflepuff, but strangely that thought didn’t offer him any comfort at all.

Draco found that he was feeling restless and he decided to go _do_ something. He had no backup tonight, but he figured it would be fine with the great commotion that was the party. Sneaking up the stairs, however, he got distracted when he reached the second floor. The party was here, which was just fine and dandy, but that wasn’t what was distracting him.

It was seeing the back of a certain brunette as she turned a corner with a certain tall, burly, and much too self-satisfied male that had him pause. He wasn’t surprised that Granger had told him the truth about going with McLaggen. Why should she lie? It was more _seeing_ it that made him uneasy.

Before he could consider what he was doing, he was following them, keeping to the shadows.

Once he had them back in his vision, he stopped, lurking, feeling decidedly out of place, but not daring to move for fear of detection. They had stopped up at the door to Slughorn’s office where the party was, and they were talking. She seemed to be smiling and nodding at something he’d said. She looked really pretty tonight, her hair up, wearing red like the femme fatale she was. Draco briefly wondered if her choice of color had anything to do with her house, but he doubted it. She didn’t seem very keen on the whole division thing.

Suddenly, McLaggen bent to kiss Granger. Draco felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach, all air leaving his lungs in a whoosh as she lifted her head to accept the other boy. He was confused. Why would she allow such liberties so soon? Then he noticed the mistletoe. Ah. Stupid old custom.

Why didn’t she break the kiss? What was she…?

Another jolt went through Draco as McLaggen gathered her closer, and she seemed to let him and even encourage him.

_Betrayal._

The bitch was going to snog that brute for everyone to see. He felt his fists clenching painfully, but he couldn’t seem to unclench them. Anger was surging through him.

Just two nights ago she had begged him to take her harder, and tonight she was letting this… this oaf maul her.

Draco’s breathing was coming hard and his heart was pounding, but he was unable to take his eyes off what was happening right before him. He knew he should walk away; he knew it was none of his concern. He had no claim, and he couldn’t make one even if he wanted to.

_Walk away. Just walk away._

He stood still, watching, unable to register anything but the kissing that wouldn’t end. McLaggen was taking liberties, scrunching her, letting his hands wander. She let him. Draco was glad that he wasn’t standing close enough to know if she was moaning.

Finally, he had had enough. He blindly turned and started walking, aiming for anywhere that was away, running straight into Filch…

*****

A few hours later Draco awoke bathed in sweat. He didn’t need to look at his clock to know that it was much too early to get up. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed his forehead. He had a massive headache and was feeling all-round crabby. 

Fighting down the memory of his nightmare, he grasped for other things to think about.

Last night…

Last night had definitely been among his least favorite nights of all time. After he’d left Granger to her whoring around, he had been caught, drawn, and quartered. That was how it had felt, anyway. At least there had been no real repercussions. He sighed.

No real repercussions indeed.

Snape was trying to control him, and worse; Granger had _actually snogged_ the insufferable lout McLaggen. He couldn’t seem to get past that.

He wondered at the amount of thought he gave to Granger’s escapades and how much they bothered him, even though he technically speaking didn’t care at all.

It was simply that he didn’t want their already rare meetings to get even rarer. That made sense. If she suddenly decided she really liked this McLaggen, then there was no telling what stupid things she might do – like stop wanting to come to Draco’s bed.

He had to make sure that didn’t happen.

He laid back down, staring at the darkness, waiting for morning to come.

A few hours later, right after breakfast, he sought Granger out. Leaving her to her own devices obviously wasn’t safe, so he had to use a more aggressive strategy. At least that was what he told himself.

He caught up with her as she was hurrying up towards her common rooms. “I need to talk to you, Granger,” was all he said.

She blushed faintly. Did she have the good sense to feel guilty? “I can’t right now. It’ll have to wait till I get back.”

“Get back from where?”

She stopped and looked at him a little worriedly. “Home? It’s Christmas, you know.”

Yes, he seemed to be reminded of that a lot lately. “Why are you going home?” he asked.

“Because it’s _Christmas_. Aren’t you?”

“But your parents are _Muggles_. No.”

“ _So?_ Why not?”

“What can you possibly have in common with them? You’re a world apart! I see no reason to.”

Granger frowned as if she was having some problems fitting the questions and the answers together. “They are my _parents_. And isn’t your mother alone, now that…” her voice trailed off.

“ _They_ are Muggles; _you_ are a competent witch. You’d do better to disassociate yourself. And yes,” he added in a frosty voice, “Mother is alone, but she preferred me to stay here.” _Where I am safer. Because I have failed so far._

“I am a _Mudblood_ ,” Granger replied much too calmly. “It wouldn’t matter how I associated myself in your or anybody else’s eyes. Besides, I love my parents and I can’t wait to see them!” Draco noticed that she didn’t comment on his mother wanting him to stay. Did she feel sorry for him? She’d better not!

“Really?” he asked in a thoughtful voice. “And what do you talk about, pray tell? The exciting progress you’re making in spells that you cannot show them? The world of magical creatures that they do not understand? Or Quidditch? Thrilling, isn’t it? Too bad they’ll never see a match. Or maybe you’ll talk about how your best friend is famous without them ever having heard of him? No? Well, maybe you’ll talk about Muggle events, things happening in their world that have absolutely no impact on yours….”

Granger just stared at him.

“Face it, Granger. Each year you have less and less to go home for. Why bother? In fact, you don’t bother very much, do you? You hang around with those two loser friends of yours any chance you get, and then you make some gesture like this one to make it up to them. Let me help you out: They know. They’re probably glad you don’t come home that often.”

He watched her face drain of all blood as she stared at him wide-eyed and clutching her chest. “You bastard. You despicable son of a—”

“I only tell the truth, don’t I?” He knew he was pushing her away. It was the exact opposite of what he had meant to do, but something had just snapped inside him, and he had wanted to cruelly, coldly hurt her. He didn’t feel the need to lie, however; sometimes the truth hurt the most and this was the truth he saw. He wasn’t sure of the reason for his vicious urge, but he seemed to have succeeded.

The gratification that he had expected didn’t come.

She seemed to compose herself a bit and then she looked at him suspiciously. “What is it that’s _really_ bothering you?” she asked, her voice a little shaky.

“That your parents are Muggles and you insist on visiting them anyway?” he ventured.

“I got that part,” she coolly replied. “That won’t wash.” She stared him down, all signs of her vulnerability gone. The girl sure knew how to bounce back.

“That you were whoring yourself to McLaggen last night in front of half the school?” he heard himself say. _Damn it._ He hadn’t meant to let that slip. Now she’d think he was all starry-eyed about her and jealous to boot.

She blinked. “You _were_ there.”

That response confused him a little. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to respond to his accusation. “I saw you, yes,” he confirmed.

“What were you doing there? As far as I know, you weren’t going.”

She was really starting to annoy him. “Could we get back to the matter at hand, please?”

“Oh,” she frowned as she had forgotten. She’d _forgotten_ his accusation? He’d as good as called her a whore and meant it too! Then she shrugged. “It was just a kiss.”

 _Just a_ … Draco saw red and threw caution to the wind. He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall, pinning her with his body, and kissed her in way meant to hurt, to bruise, crushing her lips. She whimpered a little when he bit her lower lip and sucked it hard.

She didn’t fight him, though. She never fought him when he kissed her.

Guess he wasn’t the only one she didn’t fight. The memory fuelled his anger, and he forced her lips apart, violating her soft, warm mouth with his unforgiving tongue.  
Still, she didn’t fight him. What was wrong with her? He pulled back to look at her. Her lips were swollen and bruised, just like he had wanted, and she had tears in her eyes. Again he felt as if someone had punched him. With a disgusted oath, he stepped back and let her go.

“Now you know,” was all she said in a quavering voice before she turned and fled.

*****

 _Now you know._ Know what? That he was replaceable? That she preferred McLaggen over him? That she was nothing but a whore and wanted to be treated as such? That she was probably fucking half the school by now? 

Christmas that year was by far the worst he had ever had.

He should have been doing at least a little schoolwork, but he couldn’t concentrate. He should have been going to Room of Requirement to work on the Dark Lord’s mission, but Filch was keeping an eye on him. He should have been nice to Pansy, who had stayed behind too, but she annoyed him like no one else could, getting on his very last nerve.

‘ _Now you know_ ’ what? The question was killing him, but Granger had immediately left the school, and he’d had no chance to get an answer.

Zabini had stayed behind as well. Draco had begun to notice how Zabini and Pansy were always around each other. They didn’t seem particularly friendly _towards_ each other, though. Zabini never had been and Pansy had seemed to cool a lot lately. Perhaps they were physically attracted to each other, but if they wanted to date, then why the hell didn’t they? There was no love lost between him and Zabini, and Pansy _must_ be getting the message soon that they were over…

At night Draco couldn’t sleep—again—and decided to go down to the common room. He didn’t know why; he usually stayed in his bed, but he supposed he wanted to relax somewhere he _hadn’t_ slept with Granger, the untrustworthy tramp. She had _claimed_ she wouldn’t have two relationships at once and he had believed her, leaving him completely unprepared for her duplicity. What had happened after he’d left? Had they stayed at the party or gone somewhere more private? Had she moaned when McLaggen took her hard and fast—just the way she liked it?

Draco was so busy driving himself insane that he had almost reached the common room before he heard the shouting.

Shouting? At this hour? He recognized Pansy’s voice and answering her was Zabini. Unable to contain his curiosity he edged forward so he might see what was going on without revealing himself.

“What do you care, Blaise?” Pansy railed against Zabini. “Since when does it matter to you?”

“I don’t and it doesn’t,” Zabini replied, his own voice raised. “But it’s embarrassing to watch. You’re making all of us look bad.”

“I’m sure Shaw will be willing to comfort you.”

“Indeed, she does that so well. But we were talking about you.”

“ _My_ relationship with _my_ boyfriend is _none of your business_!” she sounded as if she was on the verge of tears.

“Your _boyfriend_ treats you no better than a house-elf and people talk. Being associated with you has become more than embarrassing.”

Draco felt a twinge of guilt. He knew he hadn’t been nice in his efforts to shake Pansy, but he hadn’t really considered her public humiliation.

“Then don’t be. Who needs you anyway?”

Pansy’s effort to brush Zabini off was ineffective. “I wish it was that easy. The association is already there and it will take more time than we have left here to get rid of it. Why are you hanging on to him? You _know_ he has at least one other girl.”

_Oh, no._

“You have no proof,” Pansy said a little shrilly.

“Unlike you, I actually sleep near the bloke. I’ve seen the bruises on his neck, the marks on his back, and the bite-shaped scarring on his shoulder. _Don’t_ insult my intelligence by claiming you did all that.”

Pansy seemed to deflate a little. Draco closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Even she hadn’t deserved to find out this way. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly, her voice shaking. “It’s not like I have any options, is it?”

Draco opened his eyes again to see her looking at Zabini in a peculiar way. Zabini merely smirked. “You made your choice. I don’t care for used goods. Besides, you have nothing on Marilyn.” With that, he clearly dismissed Pansy by sitting down and opening a book, immediately becoming consumed by it.

Pansy stood looking at him for a few seconds, tears now openly streaming down her face, before she turned and ran up to her dormitory.

Draco had never thought he’d feel so sorry for her.

*****

Nothing eventful happened for the rest of the holidays. Draco half-expected that the relationship between Pansy and Zabini would change, but it didn’t. He had to assume that either they were simply acting or the fight wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. 

He still felt sorry for Pansy, but at the same time he had an even harder time respecting her. She was holding on to a boyfriend who treated her badly and who she knew cheated on her. Why? Because she couldn’t get the other boy, who clearly had no interest in her, and who didn’t hesitate to rub that in when given half a chance.

Didn’t she realize she would be better off without either of them?

Draco wanted to confront her about it, but didn’t know how without revealing that he had been eavesdropping. The result was that, for now, he found himself being kinder to her.

The holidays ended and, from one day to the next, the school filled with students again. Draco was very much aware that Granger was one of the students who would be back by now, but he knew he couldn’t go running to her, so he waited.

He allowed her two whole days to get settled before he went where he knew he’d find her—the library.

She didn’t seem overly pleased to see him.

“Bring your books and parchment?” she asked without a single word of acknowledgement, barely looking up from her book.

“Why?”

“You’re here for our agreement, aren’t you?” she asked, much too coolly for his liking. _He_ was the one who got to be cold and angry, damn her.

He sat down across from her and leaned back. “Our agreement was that you do it,” he reminded her.

“I have done most,” she said, gesturing at a big pile of scrolls, making his eyes widen. When had she had the time? When she was at home with her Muggle parents? Had she thought of him? “But you will have to copy it so it’s in your own handwriting and finish it up.”

“Damn, Granger, you’re efficient.” He was genuinely impressed and hard pressed not to let it show.

“I am just not lazy,” she primly answered. “Besides, I wanted this over with.”

That had him sitting up straight. “It’s not over yet.” _He_ decided when things were over. She couldn’t just brush him off for another lover.

She frowned at the book before her, still barely acknowledging him, making his temper flare. “Yes, it is. This is all your essays, color-coded copies of my notes for the classes I _know_ you weren’t paying attention in, and even some things for extra credit, should you need them.”

He glanced at the pile again. She had written all that out for him? She hadn’t even wanted to do it in the first place!

“I’m not caught up yet,” he said, aware that he had very little to bargain with. For once in his life, he risked not getting what he wanted. “The scroll said you’d help as long as I needed you to.”

That got her attention. “What do you _mean_ you’re not caught up yet? What did you _do_ these past two weeks?”

He grinned at her, relieved that that argument had seemed to work. “Didn’t study. It was _Christmas_ , you know,” he said in an imitation of her.

She glared at him and then pushed a book towards him. “Get started! The deal was also that you apply yourself more.”

He took the book and opened it at a random spot. He had thought she would do his work reluctantly or perhaps do a deliberately bad job of it. He had thought she might want to avoid him. He hadn’t expected her cold efficiency.

He looked over the top of the book at her. She had given her book her undivided attention again, but the red spots on her cheeks belied her indifference. She was angry. Well, so was he, but he wasn’t about to let her get away from him that easily.

“What is it that I know?” he asked.

“Hm?” she wasn’t really paying attention, damn her.

“You said ‘ _now you know_ ’ before you left… What is it I’m supposed to know?”

She looked startled and then she looked away. “If you don’t know, then it doesn’t matter.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” he exclaimed loudly enough to get the attention of four Ravenclaws at a nearby table. Just how maddening could one female get?

She blushed and refused to respond. With a disgusted sound, he got up and went to find a reference book he didn’t particularly need, just so that he might refrain from doing something stupid. Again.

When he had composed himself, he made his way back, only to stop when he noticed Granger wasn’t alone anymore. The Weasley chit was there. He looked her over. He supposed she looked nice enough if you liked sassy little redheads from beggaring families.

Ginny Weasley looked up and saw Draco standing there, her eyes immediately narrowing and growing resentful.

“What do _you_ want?” she asked.

Draco couldn’t help but grin. It was time to take out some of his frustrations. “My, Granger,” he said, ignoring the Weaslette’s rude question. “I had no idea how far your charities extended. It’s really good of a Mudblood like you to—” he gasped and leaned forward with his hands on the table.

He hadn’t been hexed. Neither of the girls had reached for a wand, and the Weaslette actually looked surprised. Granger looked smug, so he supposed she was the culprit.

“What…?” he asked and then groaned and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t pain exactly that had startled him so. It was a sensation that had started like a deep tingle, and now it was an acute physical awareness of every tiny sensation, rather as if he had been exposed to the sun for too long only… He could feel the cloth of his robes brush against his skin and, damn, if it didn’t feel…

He looked up at Granger and a lock of his own hair brushed his cheek, making him almost groan again. It felt as if someone was caressing him, but at the same time he felt raw, exposed, as if everything that touched him was covered in tiny needles.

“You might want to apologize,” she said, barely concealing a grin.

The table was making his hands burn and he jerked them away. Never had he known that the tables at Hogwarts were so rough. The movement made his robes brush his nipple, and it was nothing compared to the sensations he was getting further down from his boxers. He groaned loudly again and hunched over with his hands against the table once more. The burn in his hands was nothing compared to the humiliation of standing straight in his current state.

“What’s happening to him?” asked the Weaslette.

“He’s learning how to be a little more _sensitive_ ,” Hermione said with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Is he… in pain?” the Weaslette persisted, but received no answer.

Draco ignored them. The feelings were getting more intense, but the stinging from the seams of his clothes on his skin and his burning hands were unfortunately not doing anything to lessen his other discomfort. She had known about this, damn it; she had known about his kinky streak, and it was becoming very awkward. Other people were watching and soon they would _really_ see something.

“Make it stop,” he said in a very husky voice, staring at Granger and trying hard not to fantasize about taking her right there on this table.

“I told you, apologize,” she said.

He stared at her for a long time, not bothering to conceal the heat in his eyes. Damn her. He felt a certain gratification when a blush crept up her neck. “I’m sorry,” he finally forced out on a moan as he realized there was no other way. The only thing he was sorry about was that they weren’t alone.

Suddenly, all the sensations were gone, and he was left flushed, panting, and with a raging hard-on. He didn’t stop staring at Granger; he needed to get himself under control before he could move and while he was battling for that, he made sure she read his promise for retribution.

Finally, he had the control he needed and, with a sneer, he turned and left, hearing the Weasley wench whisper, “What _was_ that spell? Watching him almost made me excited!”

*****

Draco wasn’t about to let this go. He had a fairly good idea what had happened. He had called her a Mudblood, thus violating two points of their agreement at once, and had felt the consequences. It was rather odd that nothing had happened when he had accosted her before Christmas, though… How was calling her a whore not disrespectful? 

No matter. She could not go unpunished for this. He could not let her get away with using his lust against him like that.

When she finally left the library, alone, he was waiting to snatch her.

“God, Malfoy,” she said irritably as he flung her into an empty room. “You _have_ to stop doing this, it’s getting old!”

“Contrary to popular belief my name is Draco, not God,” he said conversationally, “and this is much easier, faster, and more successful, than trying to persuade you to come on your own.”

“Yes, God forbid I might actually want to be there,” she said sarcastically.

“What is it with you and God today? You really should leave some of those Muggle expressions behind.”

“ _What_ do you want?” she asked.

He smiled, walked closer to her, much too close, and said, “Bitch.” Her eyes widened and he continued. “Tease. Mudblood… Ungh…” he felt the sensations flowing over him again. Maybe it was just in relation to that one word that this happened. How peculiar that she would choose to associate pleasure with it. Well, ok, maybe she hadn’t intended it to be pleasurable, but then she didn’t know him as well as she thought.

She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re sick.” She took a step back.

He laughed and then groaned. “And really, really horny,” he informed her. He really was. He had only just cooled down enough for him to make the exit from the library, and since then he had been waiting, anticipating payback.

He followed her carefully, not wanting the soft, pleasurable, stinging caresses of his clothes to turn into real pain. He might be sick, but even he had his limits.

“You have to stop it,” she said. “That spell can actually harm you if you don’t stop it.” Was she worried? He hoped so.

He closed his eyes and felt her breath teasing his neck as she was looking up at him. He could feel the heat radiating off her, and he noticed the gentle swell of her breasts against her robes. He shifted and the sensations made him grunt. Merlin, he was going to burst soon, and just from looking at her, too!

He put his hands on her cheeks and she felt so hot, setting his hands on fire… he could barely stand it. He bent and brushed his lips against hers so gently that they barely touched and still her lips and her breath burned him, branded him, made him want more.

She moved away from him, breaking the contact. “Stop it, Malfoy!” she said sharply. “You don’t know what you’re playing with!”

“Fire…” he moaned. “Kiss me again, please…”

She stared at him as shudders went through him. He was going to come soon, and the pleasure would incinerate him.

She seemed to make a decision and swiftly she went to him and pressed lightly against him, brushing her lips against his. Her stomach and breasts were just barely touching him in all the right places, making the pleasure unbearable.

Oh, Merlin, had she any idea how she felt against him? How her touch scorched him? It was a flaming bliss that he was sure she wouldn’t understand. Yet here she was, relieving his need.

As she gently touched the tip of her tongue to his lower lip, branding him again, he grabbed hold of her arms. The cloth hurt his raw hands, shredded them, as every little sensation overwhelmed him, and, with a hoarse cry, he came against her.

For a moment, he was aware of nothing but her scent, her blazing proximity, and the intense climax that was shaking his body in unbelievable, pained pleasure.

It didn’t take long for him to regain his senses. The stinging was now uncomfortable, especially in one particular place. He winced.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, making the sensations go away, leaving behind soreness. He probably _had_ cut it a bit close.

“No, you’re not,” she replied evenly.

“No, I’m not, but it stopped being fun.” He looked at her. She looked a little flushed. My, my, it seemed like she had actually enjoyed it, the witch. He couldn’t resist kissing her.

After a few seconds, she broke away. “You’re sick!” she repeated.

“So are you, my sweet. I can tell you liked it.”

She flushed a deep scarlet. Was it really that embarrassing to be turned on by a little game? “You weren’t supposed to… use it… that way,” she said. “It was supposed to make you behave!”

“Oh, but I will… in public.” He scourgified himself. “Why doesn’t it work if I disrespect you? I thought that was a term of our agreement.”

“It _is_ a term, but if I had applied the sensitivity spell so that you would suffer it every time you don’t treat me respectfully, then it would never stop.”

He stood up straighter. “That’s not true!”

“Of course it is,” she scoffed at him.

He stared at her. Ok, so he might like to bother and tease her a little every once in a while, and they had their obvious differences, but all in all… “If your idea of respect is me kissing your feet—”

“Of course it isn’t.”

“Then what would you have me do differently?”

She raised her chin. “You could stop deliberately trying to hurt me!”

“Come on, Granger,” he said, feeling a little confused. “You know better than to listen to me.”

“Do I?” she asked. “Like you know better than to get jealous when I’m kissing other boys?”

He ignored that. He hadn’t been jealous. “Fine, I’ll try to behave. Just let me know when you get bored.”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ll find having you not stepping all over my feelings terribly dull.”

“I think you would. I think you like the nature of our relationship.”

She stared at him then shook her head and made as if to go. “You’re unbelievable.”

He touched her arm, stopping her. “You’re telling me that the secrecy, the intensity, the fear of getting caught isn’t part of the appeal for you?”

“Yes.”

“So it isn’t my sparkling personality and it isn’t the excitement. Then what is it?”

She didn’t have an answer. He knew she wouldn’t. She probably even did believe he was mistaken, when he knew he wasn’t. She liked doing something that was _wrong_ for once.

“Come with me,” he said. They didn’t need to discuss this right now.

She gave him a slightly puzzled look. “Where?”

“Where do you think?”

“But you… you just…” she made a vague gesture to the area of his groin.

He immediately took offense. “So? I’m sixteen, not a hundred and ten! This was just a game!”

She looked doubtful and he decided to abandon all ideas of going anywhere. He grabbed her and lifted her onto the teacher’s desk, loosening her belt. She shrieked and tried to still his hands. “Somebody could come!” she said.

“Damn right somebody could. And somebody will.” He slid his right hand into her hair and held her still so he could suck her bottom lip into his mouth, much more gently than he had done last time, and his left hand was sliding up her robes.

“Stop!” she gasped, laughing, if he wasn’t mistaken. “I get it, you can do it. You’re a big manly man.”

If anything, her mocking comment only spurred him on. His hand slightly changed its direction and was brushing up her inner thigh, ending its journey at her knickers. Her decidedly moist knickers.

“Wait,” she moaned. “If you wait, I’ll go with you.”

“I can have you here,” he said, unwilling to wait. He was a little tender, but nothing that couldn’t be ignored given the right incentive. She was the right incentive.

“I’ll stay with you all night…” The manipulative little bitch.

“Let’s go.” He wasn’t complaining.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione hurried into the Great Hall. Oh, no. She was late for breakfast _again_ , and now she would have to hurry… _again_. Harry and Ron were waiting for her and she almost jumped onto the bench, sitting down hard. She stiffened, her eyes watered, and she groaned loudly. Both of her friends stared at her. 

_Don’t blush. Blushing is what gives it away._

“I, uh, missed the disappearing step and bruised my behind,” she said rather lamely. They didn’t seem to notice, though.

“Ah…” Ron said, grinning. “Pain in the bum that step is, isn’t it?”

“Come on now, Ron,” Harry said, barely hiding his own grin. “Don’t arse about.”

“Oh, ha ha, very funny!” she said, scowling at the two jesters. Yet she was relieved that they hadn’t questioned her. The same way she was relieved that it was still so cold that it wasn’t odd that she was wearing her scarf, covering her neck all the time…

She hadn’t missed the step, of course. Her behind was just fine. The reason for her slight discomfort was Malfoy and his rather intense pursuing of her over the last week or so. He hadn’t missed a single beat in cornering her every chance he got. She had spent the past many nights in his bed and there had even been a few free periods dedicated to… well, not Arithmancy, in any case. It was beginning to take its toll on her. Last night she had been set on saying no, but… Goodness! He could be so persuasive when he put his mind to it.

_It’s not his mind he puts to it…_

She almost giggled at that thought. She knew what was driving him, anyway. He was still jealous. It was as if he thought that if he seduced her enough times in a short enough time, then she would forget all about other boys. It worked, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Not that he had any reason to begin with, but she wasn’t about to tell him that, either.

She had indeed let McLaggen kiss her. It hadn’t been a very good kiss. It was something done _to_ her rather than _with_ her. She had tried to close her eyes and enjoy it, but nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. And then he had become just a little too fresh, and she had fought her way free. As she had turned away from him, she had thought she’d seen someone disappear around the corner and for a second she had thought it was Malfoy. She had scolded herself for being silly enough to think that, but then the next day he had cornered her and had been so angry and spiteful. When she had realized the reason, it had thrilled and scared her. He had punished her with the most hurtful kiss, which was, ironically, still better than what she had gotten from McLaggen.

_Now you know._

She wasn’t entirely sure where those words had come from, but she could hardly hide the truth of it. Now he knew how it felt to give himself fully to someone who then turned around and flaunted someone else. There was no question in her mind that he _had_ given himself fully that one night before Christmas. The times they had been together since then had been good—no, better than good; great!—but he had been holding something back, as had she. She couldn’t define what that something was, but it had been a vital part in making that night special.

Still, she had no reason whatsoever to complain on that front….

She really had to say no tonight, though. She did. One reason was that she had seen Lavender and Parvati put their heads together whenever she walked into a room and she knew why: as her roommates, they had noticed that she hadn’t slept in her bed for a long time. It was just a matter of time before they told others. Hermione didn’t know what she should do about this. Her reputation was still suffering from the virus she’d had and this would certainly be the death of any claim she had to the benefit of the doubt.

She hurriedly ate some toast and got back up. “I have to go. See you later, boys.”

“Wait… what?” Harry snapped back to attention. “We barely see you as it is, and now you can’t even sit down with us for a free period? What is it that you’re _doing_?”

“Well, if you _must_ know,” Hermione replied, “what I’m _doing_ is taking a bath. I didn’t have time this morning, and I’d prefer to still have friends after class!”

Harry still looked disgruntled. Hermione felt really bad, but she wasn’t exactly lying, and he wouldn’t understand the rest of it. “I’ll spend the rest of the day with you, I promise,” she added.

_Please don’t be mad._

She hurried off to soothe her sore muscles with a bath.

*****

She was early in going to class, but she figured she could do with the time to read up on the homework once more. Somehow, tutoring Malfoy involved less studying than she had ever done. She really ought to change that.

Against all odds, she saw Malfoy on the third floor and he motioned for her to follow him into the Trophy Room.

Well, it certainly was a step up from being dragged.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. Their next class was Potions, so he hadn’t had to leave the dungeons.

“Looking for you… you left?” he scowled at her.

“I was hungry,” she stated simply.

His bad temper immediately seemed to disappear. “Ah… yes… Good. Eat more. You need it.”

“Everybody needs food.”

“Yes, but you’ve been—” he made a vague gesture indicating her body “—too skinny since you’ve been sick.”

She narrowed her eyes. Was he even trying? “Too skinny?” she sweetly asked. “Are you saying that you don’t find my body pleasing?”

He frowned slightly. “That was a stupid question. You know I found it quite pleasing twice last night.”

The memory heated her blood. Crud. Wasn’t she supposed to become _less_ aroused by him? She was still irritated, though. “Then what’s your point?”

“My point is that I like your soft places, and if I wanted to ride a broomstick…”

She gasped. He could be so crude. “You know what I like?” she snapped. “When you shut up!”

He smiled slowly and wickedly and looked her up and down, letting his eyes dwell in all his favorite places. She might as well have been naked for all her clothes. “That can be arranged,” he purred.

He reached for her, and she quickly evaded him. “No!” she said. “We have class soon. Don’t try anything—” She evaded him again. “You’re hopeless! Didn’t you get enough last night?” She was hard pressed to stay annoyed, when he was being so playful.

He pouted a little at her. He was such a spoiled brat… Shouldn’t that _detract_ from his charm? “I was going for three times, but _someone_ wouldn’t let me.”

“I needed _sleep_! Some of us still have to function during the day, you know.”

“Then come earlier.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” She shook her head.

He sighed. “Yes, I know…” He gave up trying to catch her and leaned against the wall, looking at her. “You could have come back.”

“I needed a bath.”

“So did I…”

She couldn’t help but grin. He really was impossible. “I needed a rest!” she exclaimed.

“You’ve got me there, I couldn’t offer that.”

She tilted her head a little. “You know, you don’t have to prove anything.”

For a second his eyes became very intense, piercing hers, but then it was gone. Oh, yes, she had hit the mark. “What’s to prove?” He shrugged, the liar. “It’s not like you seem to mind what we’re doing, so what are _you_ trying to prove?”

She raised an eyebrow. “That I’m tired and need to rest every once in a while?”

“I let you sleep… You didn’t leave bed at all Saturday…” Again his eyes turned sensual.

“I wasn’t sleeping for much of that,” she replied drily. “And I need to start sleeping in my own bed again.”

He straightened. “No.”

“Yes.” She folded her arms.

“Why?”

“My roommates are noticing… I…”

 _I’ll be truly labeled a slut._ She couldn’t say that. He’d just say something horribly insensitive like, ‘ _but isn’t that what you are?_ ’

“Then trick them,” he softly said. “You’re smart. How hard can it be to make them think you’re sleeping in your bed?”

She frowned disapprovingly at him. “You mean like mess with their heads? I won’t do that.”

“You wouldn’t need to. A few pillows and a glamour charm or something should do it…”

She stared at him. Well, if he put it like that, it _was_ really simple, wasn’t it?

“You know, I’m really surprised at you,” he said teasingly. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“No, you aren’t!” she snapped. “You’re always telling me how stupid I am! Well, guess what? I don’t know everything!”

He looked really taken aback and Hermione knew she’d been unreasonable but she refused to acknowledge it to him.

“Nobody expects you to,” he replied hesitantly.

“I have to go,” she said, turning and leaving the room. He positively looked like he’d been hit by a Bludger, but what did he expect? He was being _so_ irritating.

*****

Hermione felt guilty. Then she got angry that she felt guilty. Finally, she just settled on being terribly impatient with the world—especially when Malfoy was near. To her great annoyance, he wisely kept his distance. 

“Uh, Hermione,” Harry ventured later that day. “If you really don’t want to be here, then it’s ok.”

Hermione glared at him. All she’d said was that he _might_ do a little better in class, if he actually cared enough to do his homework instead of always running off to play Quidditch, or _whatever_ it was that he was doing. She looked down at the parchment she was scribbling on and noticed she’d punctured a hole in it and there was a big blot of ink.

“What do you mean?” she asked, slamming down her quill. This was useless. “Why wouldn’t I want to be here?”

Harry looked to Ron for help, but he just shook his head and backed away. “You just seem a little…” Harry ventured.

“Yes?” she snapped. “Out with it!”

He winced. “You’re biting our heads off for no reason, Hermione.”

She gaped. She was not! “I am not!”

Again Harry looked pleadingly at Ron. “Forget it, mate,” Ron said, gathering his things. “I’ve told you before: when this happens, just let it go.”

“Let what go?” Hermione demanded.

“Since when are you an expert on how to handle women?” Harry asked irritably.

“I have a mother _and_ a sister; this was a hard-learned lesson.” Ron walked up to Harry and patted his shoulder. “Have fun!” He walked off.

“I do _not_ need to be handled and I was _not_ biting your head off!” Hermione said, feeling really hurt, tears gathering in her eyes. “But if that’s how you feel…” She started packing her things together.

“No!” Harry grabbed the book from her. “Just… you were telling me about the uses of Jobberknoll feathers?” He offered her a cautious smile.

Hermione looked at him for a second. “Used in Veritaserum and Memory Potions…” She sniffed. “You really should do your homework.”

“I know,” he said, smiling at her. “Chocolate frog?”

*****

The following day, Hermione was standing around, just talking to her friends during break. She was aware that she had been a little insane the day before, but Ron and Harry were both kind enough not to mention it, which was a huge relief. Luna had joined them for a chat, and today she was wearing what appeared to be a multitude of yellow and purple strings knotted together from each ear. 

“Your earrings…” Ron said, earning him a questioning glance from Luna and a warning one from Hermione. “Um… do they protect against anything?”

“No…” Luna replied with a smile. “I just like them. Don’t you?”

They all rushed to agree, not wanting to hurt Luna’s feelings.

Hermione saw Malfoy approaching from the corner of her eye but thought nothing of it before he actually spoke.

“Oh, grand, there’s a whole bunch of you today, isn’t there…”

She turned to see him not looking too happy about being there. He sneered a little at Ron and Harry, but to his credit he stayed quiet, and then his eyes fell on Luna and he just stared.

“Did you want something, Malfoy?” Hermione asked.

He briefly looked at Hermione before looking at Luna and back again. “Err… Yes. Book. You have it.” He had turned to stare at Luna once more.

“What book? Malfoy?” Hermione almost grabbed him to get his attention but caught herself just in time.

“Uh, my Charms book… You must have taken it by mistake.”

“Well, do you need it _now_?”

“If you wanted me to study, I do, yeah. I got Charms after this period.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose… I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Ron said, scowling at Malfoy. “The class starts in fifteen minutes. Why should you spend your break running errands for _him_?”

“I seem to have _his_ book,” she said. “I won’t be long. Malfoy?”

Luna seemed to just have noticed his staring and smiled sweetly. “Yes, Draco, is there something you want?” Bless her for not being one to carry a grudge after the whole Umbridge incident.

“Uh, no,” he said. “Nice… earrings.” He turned to follow Hermione, who was waiting for him impatiently, and Luna beamed at his back.

Hermione waited until they were out of earshot before she said “Very _nice_ , Malfoy, maybe there’s hope for you yet!”

“Did you _see_ …?” he almost spluttered. “Your social circle is a regular freak show!”

“And there goes that hope,” Hermione said on a sigh. “She’s a little quirky, yes, but—“

“A _little_?”

“—she’s a real sweetheart. You could learn something from her, you know.”

“As long as you don’t mean her fashion sense,” he grumbled.

“And you were doing so well just a minute ago.”

“Yeah?” he said, quickly scanning the area around them. Not many people were about. She felt the knuckles of his hand brushing hers and her pulse jumped. “How well was I doing?” he asked in a low, seductive voice.

Hermione quickly removed her hand in a pretense of fixing her scarf.

“Draco!” a feminine voice interrupted. Not Pansy. Slightly puzzled, Hermione stopped and turned with Malfoy as the girl caught up.

Malfoy was grinning. “Well, hello there, Marilyn.” Hermione fought hard not to roll her eyes and snort. So the girl was pretty—big deal! No reason to put on a show.

Marilyn Shaw’s eyes grazed Hermione and immediately dismissed her. “Have you seen Blaise around? He said he would meet me in the common room, but he seems to have disappeared.”

“Sorry, love. Haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

Shaw did not look pleased at this. “So typical! Thanks, anyway. See you later?”

“You sure will,” he confirmed, and Shaw left again. Malfoy watched her go with a smirk on his face.

“Very nice,” Hermione said sardonically. “A bit obvious, though.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he innocently replied.

“She’s seeing your friend. Perhaps you should choose to salivate over someone available if you want a reaction?”

“Zabini isn’t my friend. As far as I’m concerned she _is_ available.”

“Ah, but then there’s still Pansy, isn’t there?”

He didn’t respond, and, feeling annoyed with him again, she started walking. A few seconds later, he caught up. “You didn’t come last night. I waited for you,” he said, as if the other conversation hadn’t taken place.

She flinched. She had hoped he wouldn’t bring that up, but it hadn’t been realistic to expect him not to. “I didn’t feel like it,” she said in her best prim voice.

“Why not?”

“You annoyed me!”

“I always annoy you. It’s what I do! It’s what gets you off…”

“Certainly not!” A thought occurred to her. “Are you _really_ missing a book?”

He sighed dramatically at the change of subject. “Yes, I am _really_ missing a book. Otherwise I wouldn’t have braved the frea—er, your friends, I mean.”

“Keep trying, Malfoy.”

“Whatever it takes to get into your knickers, Granger.”

_That doesn’t take much at all._

“I didn’t know you liked to cross-dress.”

“Was that really your best comeback?” he asked in an amused voice.

“No…”

“Then what is?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

She didn’t reply, but just smirked, hoping to drive him mad.

They had reached the Fat Lady, who eyed them curiously, and Hermione almost sighed with relief. “Snowball,” she said, making the portrait swing open. “Wait here,” she hurried inside.

It took her some time to find the book. Somehow she had managed to kick it under her bed in spite of not even knowing she had it. She hurried back out, aware that she would be late for class, and then stopped abruptly. Malfoy hadn’t noticed the painting swing open, and was just standing there, leaning against the wall, slightly frowning at his feet. Merlin help her; she thought he looked _cute_. Malfoy was many things, not all of them entirely bad, but cute wasn’t one of them.

He finally noticed her arrival. “Took you long enough. What’s wrong?”

Hermione blinked a few times. “N-nothing. It had snuck under my bed. Here.”

He smirked a little at her as he received his book back. “You know, if you wanted a keepsake…”

Definitely not cute. “I must have dropped it in the dark and, since I didn’t know I had it, I didn’t put it away with the other books.” They were walking again. She was going to the first floor, and he was going to the dungeons. It would be odd _not_ to walk beside him. She had to say something to get her mind off her thoughts. “My Illumination spell works nowhere nearly as well as your neat little floating light, but, of course, I never get to _read_ in your bed.”

_Wrong. Don’t mention being in his bed. Stupid._

He shot her a glance. “You read by an Illumination spell?” He didn’t make some lewd comment about the benefits of his bed?

She nodded. “Hadn’t really considered that there might be options. But of course there is; this is the world of magic, after all, isn’t it?”

He snorted. “Only a Mu—Muggleborn wouldn’t know.”

“Nice save,” she drily said. “Choking on your promises yet?”

“Not yet… Come see me tonight.”

“Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

She scowled at him irritably. “I can’t go there every night, deal with it!” and with that she stalked off, leaving him looking perplexed again.

*****

It wasn’t the first time in this past week that Hermione was late for class, although usually there had been a more fun reason. McGonagall took ten points from Gryffindor, and Ron was scowling. Hermione was feeling thoroughly harassed and made no effort to be agreeable to him or anyone else. After the class, she managed to flee to the common room, and she ensured that she didn’t run into Malfoy again by not coming down for dinner.

She didn’t do quite as well in avoiding him the following day. She ran into him—in the most literal sense—before it was even lunch, falling on her behind, dropping her bag, books all over the place. “Watch it, Malfoy!” she growled irritably, getting up on her knees to collect her things. This elicited a frown from him as he sighed impatiently and squatted down next to her to roughly grab a few of her books and thrust them back into her bag. She made a noise of indignant objection at the way he was handling her property.

“Hey, I’m not the one walking around with my head in the clouds,” he said, getting back up and frowning at her again. “Perhaps it’s your stupid new habit of not eating that’s messing with your eyesight.” He jerked his head at Crabbe and Goyle, who were behind him, sniggering, and took off again.

Hermione looked after him with a puzzled expression. What was his problem?

*****

Finally, classes were over. It had been a long day with everyone either avoiding her or staring at her. She didn’t know what was _up_ with everyone. Ok, so she wasn’t that stupid. She did know. She was being a regular shrew, and she couldn’t wait to go to her room and just curl up with a book. Alone. She shifted her bag and frowned a little. Her books had fit in perfectly earlier, but since Malfoy had just shoved them in something seemed to be jammed and it was bothering her to no end. 

She was just about to start rummaging with it when she saw Malfoy again. This was the sixth floor, what was he doing here? Like she didn’t know. She sighed audibly, making him positively glower at her. He held a door open, and she supposed she could either go willingly or be flung, if that glower of his was any indication. She opted to go willingly.

She walked into the middle of the room, and then turned to find him right behind her, uncomfortably close. She didn’t back down. “What is it, then?” she asked coolly.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” he asked.

“The… what?” She wasn’t following.

“A couple of days ago we were doing just fine and, then, all of a sudden you turn into a vicious little bitch who wants nothing to do with me.”

That stung. “Well, if I’m so horrible, then why—”

“Just answer the question,” he angrily interrupted.

“I… have better things to do.”

“Like?”

“I don’t have to answer to you!”

He grabbed her arms and, frightening her a little, he pulled her closer and sneered. “I need to know what game you’re playing before I can join in. Why do you suddenly hate me so much? Just _what_ am I supposed to have done?”

She deflated a little. He thought he had done something? “It’s not you…”

He let go of her. He wasn’t placated in the least. “Then what is it? Feeling guilty? It’s a little late for that.”

She shook her head. “N-no, it’s just…” She blushed a little and looked down. “Just give me a few days.”

She felt his hand on her waist as he bent to whisper in her hear. “But I don’t want to… Not if you can’t give me a reason, Hermione.” Oh, he had a way of saying her name that made her knees weak. He probably knew it too, the rogue.

“A few days isn’t unreasonable,” she pointed out as her pulse soared from his breath on her neck. She was feeling a little confused by his very sudden change of tactics. It wasn’t at all because his nearness muddled her thoughts.

“You’ve already had two days. And two very long nights,” he mumbled.

“You probably needed the rest too.” But what she needed was to get out of his thrall.

“There was no rest.” He lifted his head and smiled wickedly at her. “Not until after I thought of you…”

She didn’t comprehend at first, but then she got his meaning. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, attracting his gaze. “Oh! No, you didn’t…”

He laughed huskily. “Everybody does it, my sweet. I bet even you do.”

Oh, no. She wasn’t even going there. That was private! “At this rate, soon there’ll be nothing left of you,” she said a little breathlessly.

He grunted and grabbed her hand to press it against his bulging groin. “Feel like nothing to you?” he asked.

She couldn’t help but move her hand a little, caressing the length of him, and he groaned. She let her hand fall away and said, “We can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked in an almost pained whisper.

“Because… it’s that time.”

He frowned. “What time?”

She moved a little away from him. “O-of the month. We can’t have sex.” He still looked confused, so she took a deep breath and said defensively, “It’s my period, you moron. Happy now?”

His eyes widened. “Oh!” Then realization seemed to dawn. “Oh… No, not happy. That’s inconvenient.” He looked put out as if she had done it on purpose.

“Not as inconvenient as not getting it would be. And it happens, you know—every single month!”

“Isn’t there something one can _do_ about it?”

“No, there isn’t anything to _do_ about it; you’ll have to suffer like all other blokes out there. Or get someone else to ease your… pain.”

He scowled at her. “How long do you plan on taking with this?”

She could gleefully strangle him right now. “Another three or four days, and then, after that, there’ll be all the time where you’ll have to make your inane comments up to me.”

He looked at her longingly. “I can’t wait to do that… Come to me tonight anyway.”

She stared at him. “ _What_? No! Eww!”

He shook his head. “No, not like that. We’ll just sleep.”

She cocked her head. “Just sleep?”

He smiled lazily and looked her over with a sensuous gaze that almost had her undone all over again. “Well…” he mused. “I can’t promise that I won’t take a little bit advantage… but your underwear stays on, I promise.”

“Ok,” she breathed before she could catch herself. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. What had she just agreed to? What did he mean with a little bit advantage?

He smiled triumphantly. “Too late! You don’t want to go back on your promise, do you? The valiant Gryffindor is not afraid to go to sleep next to the nasty Slytherin, is she?”

“You’re up to something,” she said suspiciously.

“Yes, but nothing new, I assure you…” He walked towards the door. “Remember to eat first. Your starved corpse in my bed might raise a few questions.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and waited until he was gone before she left for her dormitory. There she unpacked her bag to see what was jamming her books. In the bottom of the bag was a small box. She frowned. She didn’t recognize it. She took it out and opened it. Inside, was a small floating ball of light.

*****

“You knocked me down on purpose, didn’t you?” Hermione whispered near Malfoy’s ear. He stiffened. She was early, and they were in the Slytherin common room. It had been easy to slip in, much easier than it was later in the night when there weren’t so many coming and going. It was risky of her to come this early, though, as a lot of people were still about, and someone might bump into her or otherwise reveal her presence, but this had been occupying her all afternoon and evening. 

“I’m going to bed,” he announced to his friends and then got up and walked to the dormitories. Hermione noticed with a scowl that he had needed to untangle his hand from Pansy’s. Since when did they reconcile? Nobody questioned his going, though, even though it was barely eight o’clock. She slipped after him.

“I wasn’t aware you missed me so much,” he said, when they were safe behind his drapes, his own light let out. “If I had been, I would have gotten angry a whole lot sooner.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she persevered in a much less genial mood than before.

He scowled at her. “Figures you’d be focused on that. So what if I did? Wouldn’t be the first time I set out to knock you off your feet and succeeded.”

“Why? And you think Luna is quirky…”

“It doesn’t mean anything. My parents are rich and I’m well aware how spoiled I am. I have many things I don’t need.”

“If it doesn’t mean anything then why didn’t you just give it to me?” She was being relentless.

“Because I was hoping you’d shut up about it!” He rolled over on top of her. “But you can give me a kiss if you like…”

She gasped at the onslaught and then giggled. “Aren’t _you_ just dying to drop the subject?”

“If you don’t want to keep it…”

“I’m keeping it!”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

*****

Hermione was jerked awake. They had gone to sleep not long after she had gotten there, because Malfoy had seemed so tired. He was now fidgeting and mumbling under his breath, and it was his movements that had jostled her. She turned to see what was wrong, but it was too dark. She fumbled after her wand at the foot of the bed.

When she did get a look at him, she decided that whatever he was dreaming was definitely not good, and she had better wake him up. “Malfoy,” she whispered, gently touching his arm. He didn’t respond to her but moaned at something in his dream. “Malfoy!” she tried a little louder, grabbing him and shaking him a little.

He awoke with a start. “What?” he hoarsely asked.

“You were dreaming,” she softly said. “And it didn’t seem pleasant.”

He lifted one hand to his brow. “No… no, it wasn’t.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

He shook his head. “No… Just go back to sleep.” He pulled her close again, her back to his front, and buried his face in her hair.

Hermione stayed still after putting away her wand, although she didn’t think she could go to sleep again. Malfoy didn’t seem to be able to either, but simply held her, stroking her belly. Just lying there felt nice. He moved her hair to the side and began kissing her neck. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back against him. Very nice indeed. His hand strayed from her belly up to her breasts, and she felt she had to remind him. “We can’t…”

“I know,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.”

He didn’t stop, though, and her pulse and breath were quickening. He didn’t try to remove her bra, but just cupped her breasts, teasing them through the fabric. They were extra sensitive these days, and Hermione moaned. She could feel his appreciation pressing against her. This was madness; they wouldn’t be able to get release. Still, she didn’t say anything, and the pressure built.

“Let me touch you,” he murmured, his hand sliding back down her belly. She shook her head. “It won’t take long,” he softly pressed. “You’ll come soon.” He softly brushed the front of her knickers as to make a point, and she stiffened against him and moaned. He trembled slightly.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t need to.”

“Yes, you do,” he choked. “And I need you to.” He brushed the front again, and she moaned again, in spite of trying hard not to. “Please let me.”

“You promised that my underwear stayed on,” she reminded him breathlessly, “and you’re staying out of it.”

He groaned in frustration. “Fine…” he said, making her immensely relieved, before he began purposely caressing her through the cloth.

“What are you doing?” she gasped. She could already feel her body tensing and knew it was too late to stop him.

“I am staying out of your knickers,” he murmured and nibbled at her ear, as he stroked her nub and sent her over the edge.

“Y-you cheated,” she panted, as she regained her wits.

“You can’t be that surprised,” he drily replied. “Besides, we both needed it, and I wasn’t going to let you off that easily…”

“What do you mean you needed it? You didn’t come.”

“I will… trust me. Just go back to sleep.”

“So you’re going to deny me my fun?” she asked, turning to face him. The darkness was absolute. He gasped as she firmly caressed him through his boxers.

“Merlin, no…” he groaned. “Please _do_ touch me.”

She found his lips in the dark and kissed him lightly, but he tangled his hand in her hair and kept her close for a deep, passionate kiss. He really did seem to need this. She briefly wondered what he’d dreamt and if that had anything to do with this. She broke away but kept fondling him, feeling more in control than ever.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to touch you before?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “You didn’t seem too keen on doing things, and I didn’t want you to leave. But please don’t stop…”

She leaned in and nibbled his ear. “Take them off,” she breathed.

He didn’t need to be told twice. She wondered if he’d be as cooperative in other matters if she kept him in a perpetual state of… _Oh, my._ She still couldn’t see, but she could feel. For all their many hours of fooling around, she hadn’t really _felt_ him before. Not with her hands. He felt like satin on steel. She squeezed, making him groan. No, not steel, it definitely did give…

“You having fun?” He gave a short pained laugh.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, letting go.

“Didn’t say that! Please…” He found her hand and led it back. “Do whatever you want. I like it.”

_Whatever I want._

She caressed the length of him, experimenting, listening to his breathing and moans. He liked having her touch him, she could tell, and he was most definitely trying to hold back. Making him lose control suddenly sounded very appealing.

She got a wicked idea, and shielded by the darkness she bent and let her tongue flick out, tasting him. His entire body convulsed. She drew back.

“No, don’t!” he gasped. “I was just surprised. I’ll try to control myself. Please… I-I want it.”

She hesitated. This was so unlike her. But wasn’t all of what they were doing unlike her?

“You don’t have to,” he said in a strained voice, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Just stop whenever you want to and I’ll… I’ll finish it myself.”

No, _she_ wanted to finish it. She wanted to make him come for her.

She loved the way he responded to her touch and the way he obviously tried to contain himself. She knew that her light touches were doing nothing but driving him insane. She knew what kind of touches he wanted. Still, he didn’t correct her. She was almost sorry that she couldn’t see his face, but his breathing, little sounds, and squirming told her everything she needed to know.

She bent again and teasingly let her tongue run down his shaft and back up. He stiffened and his breathing stopped. It was as if he was afraid of scaring her away. She hesitantly opened her mouth, engulfing his tip, allowing her tongue to caress him more fully.

He let his breath back out and groaned loudly. “Bloody hell…”

She stopped and withdrew. Didn’t he like it? Had she hurt him?

“No! Don’t stop! I’ll give you anything if you don’t stop!”

_Anything?_

“Sure you will.”

“Try me.”

“Break it off with Pansy.”

There was a silence. She was sorry to have revealed what she really wanted when she had _known_ he didn’t really mean it when he said ‘anything’. He’d probably thought she would have asked for something material, or that she’d just try to get him to behave better.

“Yeah,” she said, trying hard to hide her disappointment. “I-I didn’t think so.”

“I’ll do it,” he said softly. “But I get to watch what you’re doing.”

Before Hermione had a chance to collect the thoughts that had all seemed to scatter at his words, he had found his light and released it and was now looking at her. He smirked at her stunned expression.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Well, you get your wish if I get mine…”

Was he daring her? Did he think that she wouldn’t really do it? She narrowed her eyes, considering his motives. “You’re blackmailing me,” she hissed.

“No, _you_ stated something you wanted for doing this. _You_ blackmailed _me_.” His eyes _were_ daring her.

She lowered her gaze to his never-wavering erection and licked her lips, trying to decide on a course of action. He groaned. She looked up into his eyes and they were no longer mocking but filled with need. That decided her.

She bent down and slowly took him into her mouth. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt like smiling. He liked this. She gently sucked and caressed him with her tongue and his strong reaction sent shivers through her. He was trembling and moaning her name. He seemed to especially like it when her tongue delved in right under the tip. This wasn’t bad at all. She took him as far into her mouth as she could without getting an unpleasant gagging feeling.

She peeked up and noticed that he was watching her intently. When he noticed her looking at him watching her, he flushed slightly, but he didn’t look away. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, she began sliding up again, applying her tongue where she knew he’d like it, when she felt him stiffen, growing harder if possible.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he moaned, his fists tangled in the sheets. “I’m going to come. You’d better… if you don’t want… ahh…”

She did want. She applied a little more pressure and sucked a little harder and he didn’t disappoint. He came, shouting out, pulsing into her mouth. It was the most erotic experience of her life. She wasn’t sure what to do about the hot, sticky, slightly salty semen in her mouth, so she swallowed, licking her lips to get it all. His eyes widened, and he stared at her, a look of mesmerized rapture on his face.

She was fit to bursting herself and let a hand slide between her legs to quickly ease the tension. Just a slight touch was enough to make her come. He groaned, watching as her face flushed, her eyes became unfocused, and she trembled and whimpered. He shook his head slightly as if disbelieving.

“So,” she said after they got their breaths back. “Was it worth it, Malfoy?”

“I think…” he slowly said, still looking somewhat dazed. “That it’s about time you start calling me Draco.”


	10. Chapter 10

Draco didn’t know what to think anymore. Didn’t know how to feel. One minute Hermione was avoiding him or snapping at him; the next she was being hotter than any Sex Goddess he could ever have thought to imagine, sucking him off, and licking her lips as if wanting more. He could have come again right then and there. And then watching her touch herself… he wanted to groan just at the thought. 

‘ _So… was it worth it, Malfoy?_ ’

She had no clue how much it had been worth. She had no clue how much he’d been willing to give. He couldn’t think of a single thing that would have been worth denying her – and she had no idea. He’d like to keep it that way.

_Dangerous._

But what could she possibly want from him that might endanger him? She didn’t want her friends to know, either. She might not be in any danger, and he rather liked it that way, but she still had something to lose. No, she wouldn’t ask anything from him that he couldn’t give.

Breaking it off with Pansy would be a very small price to pay for this. He needed to break it off with her anyway. This farce was serving no purpose anymore and even though she might not want to admit it, Pansy would be much happier on her own. That Hermione had demanded it had, however, stunned him. He had known it bothered her, of course, but he’d never thought she’d come right out and say it.

Hermione had laid back down and snuggled up against him, clearly exhausted. He extinguished the light, once again enfolding them in darkness, and she sighed contentedly, snuggling closer, putting her head on his chest. It had taken him days to get her to do that—or rather, nights. He didn’t understand why it was harder for her to share body heat than to share sex.

“You know,” she mumbled sleepily, her voice slightly muffled. “You don’t have to do it.”

“Do what?” he asked, a little distracted.

“Break it off with Pansy. I mean, if you even really meant to.”

He frowned. What was this, then? “I said I would, didn’t I? We made a deal.”

She made a dismissive sound. “I would have done it anyway. I was just testing you.”

“What kind of test is it if I don’t have to go through with it?” For some reason he couldn’t explain, he was beginning to feel upset.

“A silly one.” She yawned and sighed again. “Thanks for saying you’d do it, though.”

Something sliced at him, tore at his insides. She didn’t care if he did it or not? “I’ll do it,” he said angrily. “Just give me a few days to figure out how.”

She shrugged lightly. _Shrugged_.

“Why did you ask for it if you didn’t want it?” he asked, fighting hard to keep his tone civil. “I’m sure there were any number of things you could have chosen to _test_ me with.”

“I don’t know…” she said, sounding a little more awake. “Why does this upset you?”

He clenched his teeth. _It upsets me, because I offered you anything, and you apparently chose you wanted nothing from me._ “It doesn’t.”

“You’re lying to me,” she said. “But you always do that.” She had sat up, robbing him of her touch.

“Not everything I say is a lie!” Why did she have to ruin this?

“No… You only lie about the important stuff.” She was sounding put out now. What reason did _she_ have?

“It’s not important. None of this is important.” He tried to brush her off.

“Then why are you upset?” she persevered. Annoying little bitch.

“ _I am not upset!_ ” he all but shouted. He was well aware that it had been a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. “You’re just bugging the hell out of me. Give it a rest, will you?”

She fell silent and he sighed. How could he placate her without giving himself away?

“I don’t like that you extract promises from me that you don’t even care if I keep,” he said. That wasn’t a lie.

“Oh…” she said. “Well…” She fell silent again. He wondered what she wasn’t saying. Finally, she mumbled, “I just didn’t think you’d do it.”

“You’ll see, won’t you?” he asked, pulling her back down.

“I suppose,” she said, still sounding doubtful.

Deciding he’d had enough conversation for one night, he flipped her over, pinning her beneath him, and began kissing her neck. Ignoring her objections, he moved up to her mouth. Catching it, he tasted the salty essence of himself and for a second he stopped, stunned.

“Told you to stop,” she muttered, sounding like she was smirking.

Thought she had him, did she? He kissed her again, deeper, more thoroughly. Her lips parted on a gasp at his second onslaught, and his tongue slipped in, tasting and teasing. She felt warm and heady and tasted like sex. She softened beneath him as she usually did, responding to his kiss. He was hard again and shifted his body so she would know.

She moaned with need. “You’re sick!” she thought it fit to inform him even as she moved against him.

He smirked against her. Yes, he was… and it felt great.

*****

Before many days had passed, Draco decided that he rather liked Hermione’s periods. Still, he couldn’t wait for it to be done with so he could finally have her again. Playing around was nice and all, but it didn’t compare to the real thing. 

The level of his need worried him a bit. Sometimes, he’d sit in class and just stare at the back of her bushy head, not registering anything while imagining her naked and flushed with pleasure. It couldn’t be healthy to be this obsessed, but he found it hard to resist.

He was pleasantly surprised that so far nobody had a clue about his interest in Hermione. This meant they didn’t have to break it off yet. The fact that they hated each other so much made it unthinkable for anyone that there might be more. Of course, it helped a little that they were usually seen bickering or fighting whenever they were talking. If only people knew that it was nothing but foreplay… As far as he was concerned, it was, anyway.

Apparently, her tutoring him excused these extra communications they had to a very high degree as she had shown people a slightly remedied public version of their contract by now, making him the laughing stock of most Slytherins. Now people _knew_ he was all but emasculated, and it was only a matter of time before they’d take full advantage of that, making life hard on him. He reminded himself that he had to punish her for that.

Punishing Hermione was always something to look forward to.

Pleasing her was even better.

Giving her the light had been an impulse. It wasn’t as if he’d _bought_ her anything. He’d had that extra light that he hadn’t gotten around to returning, and she had wanted one like it. He couldn’t face her with it, though, so he had done the next best thing—pushed her over and shoved it into her bag while she was too busy being angry at him to notice.

Ok, so maybe that _had_ been an odd way to go about it, but the end result had been as he’d wished. She had obviously liked it, and he had gotten some very long nights of sexual favors. She would probably claim that it wasn’t connected, but he’d already learned that he got more from her if he kept her somewhat happy outside of bed as well as in bed. So much more…

McLaggen had met with a series of minor accidents lately. Hermione didn’t seem to be aware of this or she would surely have been on Draco’s case by now. Draco, however, was innocent as a lamb. _He_ wasn’t doing anything. So what if he did drop a few hints—or ingredients—at Crabbe and Goyle every once in a while? He wasn’t even near when it happened. Well, maybe he _was_ just near enough to watch… It had been priceless the day McLaggen had turned purple and had had to spend the rest of the day in the hospital wing. Draco smirked at the thought.

He was woken from his pleasant reverie as someone else entered the Slytherin common room. Marilyn Shaw, looking annoyed and distressed as she so often seemed to be these days. She should just dump that Zabini and be over with it.

“Have you seen—“

“No.” No reason to pretend. “But you already knew that.”

With an exasperated grunt, she flung herself down on the sofa across from him. “He’s off with Pansy again,” she said sullenly. “They’re cheating on us.”

That surprised Draco somewhat. “Zabini and Pansy? No… I don’t think so. Why would they want to? You’re prettier than her, and I’m almost definitely nicer than him.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Yeah? Where is she then? And why is he never where he says he’ll be?”

Draco shrugged. He couldn’t care less. “Just get rid of him. Why do you want to be with him anyway?”

She glanced at him and shrugged too, before studying her feet. “He’s very good-looking.”

“Now there’s a recipe for a nice, long relationship,” he drily replied.

“Look who’s talking,” she sneered at him. “Why are you still together with that slut?”

Ouch. He seemed to have hit a sore spot. “Because I don’t care,” he calmly replied. “Do you have that luxury?”

She stood up abruptly, glaring down at him, looking as if she might strike him. Then she stormed off to her dormitory.

That had almost been fun.

*****

Time passed. Draco noticed that after he insisted Hermione call him by his first name, she had simply refrained from calling him anything. This annoyed him. He was finally allowed to sleep with her again, and he did, whenever she let him. She was, however, still demanding her rest and she refused to use the glamour spell on her bed every night to come sleep in his bed. He won out most nights, but there were still the nights he didn’t…

He also hadn’t broken it off with Pansy yet, but Hermione didn’t comment on that. This annoyed him more. He _was_ going to; he just needed to find the right way to go about it. Pansy might be insecure and clingy, but she still had plenty of spite and the means to make his life a living Hell if she should choose to do so.

In the end, the solution presented itself.

After dinner, he was walking back to his common room next to a very sulky Marilyn, who had once again been forgotten or possibly deliberately stood up. He didn’t bother pointing out to her that she didn’t really _have_ a boyfriend anyway and might as well dump him, as she was being terribly snappy about the whole thing. Normally, he’d take great pleasure in baiting her, but today his head was aching and shrill female voices just weren’t worth it.

They had left early, as neither had wanted much to eat—Marilyn had been busy sulking, and Draco’s headache was seriously interfering with his appetite. Besides, he had thought it prudent to let Hermione see him leave with another female when she had flat out refused to come sleep at his dormitory. Again. She said she needed to study more. Yes, because she was really falling behind… as if she could.

When the wall slid away, he was treated to the last thing he had wanted: a shrill female voice.

“I don’t _want_ to be with Draco anymore!” Pansy loudly exclaimed at a cold-eyed Zabini.

Well, then… from the look on Marilyn’s face, she had definitely heard as well. “Duly noted,” Draco calmly said.

Pansy whirled around a panicked look on her face. “Draco! I didn’t mean…”

“Do yourself a favor, Pansy,” he said. “Don’t embarrass yourself over this.”

“Told you,” Marilyn said, smirking.

“Marilyn, please…” he said, his head throbbing worse than ever.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed on Marilyn, cold fury in them. “Fine, Draco, I _did_ mean it. But tell me; is this the whore you’ve been cheating on me with?”

That wiped the smirk off Marilyn’s face. “Who’s the whore, you two-timing bitch?”

Draco groaned. Tonight of all nights. “None of your business, Pansy,” he said, not bothering to deny it, figuring Marilyn might want some leverage against Pansy and Zabini if she was going to fight them. He wasn’t entirely unhappy either if people generally thought she had been the one. “You’re my ex now, remember?” he continued to remind her. “You’re free to do whatever or—” his eyes went to Zabini “—whoever, you choose, as am I.”

Pansy flushed a little. So Marilyn had been right? He didn’t understand how that could be. Zabini was such a cold, mean, condescending bastard. Ah, well, there was no accounting for taste. He shrugged. Whatever. It really was none of his concern.

“Well, have fun…” he said and left for his dormitory, not caring if or how they fought it out. He was free at last. And he had a migraine that almost made him glad that Hermione wouldn’t come tonight. Almost. He wondered how she’d react to the news.

*****

“Didn’t you hear me?” he asked. They were in the library. Hermione kept insisting that they put up a studying front, but from the way she was riding him, he hardly felt it was a front. He liked it much better when she took him for a different kind of ride…

He’d just told her that Pansy was history and she hadn’t reacted in the least, not even the flicker of an eye.

“I heard you,” she calmly replied.

“And you have nothing to say?”

“What would you like me to say?” she asked. “Congratulations?”

Why did she always have to be so bloody indifferent to him outside of bed? “You got what you wanted; can’t you at least _pretend_ to be pleased?”

“I heard a different story,” she said coolly. “It involved Pansy breaking it off because you were sleeping with Shaw.”

He blinked. That was unexpected. “And you believe that?” he asked. Just _how_ much stamina did she believe he had?

“I believe that Pansy broke it off because you’ve been cheating on her, yes.”

“Pansy wouldn’t have broken it off if I’d had an orgy in front of her! She’s known there’s been someone for months. And _you_ know that that someone is _not_ Shaw. I’m not into her.”

She smiled unsympathetically. “Yes, well, nonetheless, it was convenient. You got rid of her without any real effort on your part.”

She didn’t accept the way it was done? Did she expect him to request a do-over just so she might approve of how he did it? “I thought you didn’t care!”

“I don’t,” she said, looking stony. “I just don’t want you taking credit where none is due.”

He stared at her. Then he noticed it—the strain at her mouth and her eyes. He had hurt her? How? By not breaking it off with Pansy? “I did break it off with her,” he said softly, desperately wanting her to understand. “I heard her say she didn’t want to be with me, it’s true, but she was going to—“

“Hey, Hermione!” Draco was interrupted by the Weasley moron approaching. _Damn it._ “Thought I could find you here. Won’t you be finished with tutoring this git soon?” Weasley gave Draco a disgusted look that was darkly returned.

“Yes… Yes, I believe I will…” Hermione muttered without looking at Draco.

 _What?_ Surely she didn’t mean… “Get your business done, Weasel,” he said a bit hoarsely. “I’m not paying her to waste my time consorting with riff-raff.”

Weasley scowled at him and bent to whisper something in Hermione’s ear. It was obviously just to provoke Draco and it did, but not in the way Weasley thought. Draco looked them and saw the easy familiarity, the closeness, the way they thought nothing of touching each other, and he saw red.

He knew he had to contain himself, however, or Hermione might up and leave and not allow him near her again. She was too damn close to doing that already. The next couple of minutes were the longest of his life. His hands were shaking, and the grip on his book was turning his knuckles white. Finally the Weasel left.

“About bloody time,” he bit out. “What did he want?”

“None of your concern,” she calmly replied.

“Don’t do this!” he wasn’t aware of what he was saying before it had slipped out. She looked up at him, startled. He flushed a little but persevered. “Don’t push me away because I didn’t do _this_ right. Please.”

Not breaking eye contact was one of the harder things that he’d ever had to do. He had a feeling that if he looked away, he’d lose, and she would be what he lost. But he felt her eyes could see straight through him and that, combined with her silence, was very unsettling. Giving up was tempting but not an option.

Finally she looked away. “I suppose…” she said hesitantly, “that maybe you can have the benefit of the doubt.”

He released a breath he wasn’t aware that he’d held and briefly closed his eyes. Close call. And why did he care so much anyway? He would worry about that later. “Will you come tonight, then?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I-I don’t think it’ll be such a good—”

“So you aren’t giving me the benefit of the doubt, after all?” he asked, feeling unduly hurt. He couldn’t stand being there, near her, anymore, and stood up, gathering his books. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he bitterly said, before he hurried off.

*****

Later that night, Draco cursed his own stupidity. He could have talked her into coming. He knew he could. He had done it so many times before. She wasn’t at all immune to his touch. He could have seduced her if he had bothered to try and get her alone. He had just wanted her to accept him without his machinations for once. It had been a stupid want that had ultimately brought him nothing. So what if he had to chase her? It was plenty worth it in the end. 

She couldn’t be allowed time to think. She was too damn smart. If she thought about it, she would realize how stupid and hopeless this was, and she would really break it off. He couldn’t allow that. Eventually they would be done and it would be over, yes, but not yet. Right now she was the link that allowed him to keep his sanity. Tomorrow, he would pursue her again, harder than before if he had to.

He was just lying down, hoping to get a little sleep, when he heard a sound. He strained his ears, trying to hear, but there was nothing. Brushing it off as just the wind, he closed his eyes and heard it again.

“ _Pssst!_ ”

He sat up and opened his drapes.

“About time,” someone breathed near his ear as his bed moved.

His heart did a flip-flop. She had come? He closed the drapes again, recasting the spells to make sure they stayed in place. “Well, you did say no…” he said. “What caused this change of heart, then?”

She was now fully visible and had released some light. Merlin, she was a sight for sore eyes. She decided to roll her own at his comment. “If you don’t want me here, I can leave again,” she offered.

“No,” he said. It was a simple denial. He wasn’t about to allow her to go.

“I figured you had a point,” she said. “After all, I never really did expect you to do it…”

In one fluid movement, he pinned her beneath him. It was a good way to get her attention _and_ feel her body pressed against his at the same time. It didn’t even matter that she was fully dressed. “I _did_ it,” he growled at her. “She would have gone on pretending, but I told her to forget it!”

“How many witnesses were there?” she softly asked.

“Two. Why?”

“So, in front of two witnesses and you, she says she doesn’t want to be with you. She wouldn’t have been able to go on pretending anything. Especially not if one of the witnesses was Shaw, who hates her with a passion.” From the look on her face, she already knew that one of them _had_ been Shaw. But of course, who else would have leaked the news?

“You’re exaggerating.”

Hermione shook her head. “Pansy ruined it for herself. But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re free of the tedious business of holding her hand now.”

He frowned down at her. “It bothers you that I held her hand?”

Her slightly pink cheeks confirmed it, but she shook her head again.

He let his hands slide down her arms, finding her hands. Entwining their fingers, he lifted her arms and pinned them above her head. “Now I’m holding both of yours,” he murmured against her ear. “Does that help?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said breathlessly. “Why would I care about—”

“You care,” he interrupted a little irritably. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been so mad about this whole thing.”

“Look who’s talking.” She looked at him defiantly.

“I suppose…” he slowly said, “that we’re both bad at sharing.”

She looked at him for a second, and then she nodded. Just one curt nod. It pleased him immensely.

He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Now, stop being so stubborn and say my name.”

She jerked. Did she really think he wouldn’t have noticed? “I-I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I use your name all the time.”

“Yeah?” he mocked. “Then you must be talking _about_ me a lot, because I’ve yet to hear you say it.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Malfoy.”

“Wrong.”

“Oh, so that isn’t your name?” she mocked him back.

“You know perfectly well what I meant. Why does it bother you so much… Hermione?”

“Why is this such a big deal to you?”

“It obviously is to you too or you’d just do it.”

“It feels too intimate, ok? I don’t like using it.” She squirmed, trying to get free, but he held her easily.

He tried to process that. “You’ll sleep with me regularly, and you will put that smart mouth of yours to good use sucking me off… but my given name is too intimate for you?”

She glared angrily at him. “Just forget it. You won’t make me.”

She shouldn’t have issued him a challenge. He could see that she realized the same thing, as her eyes widened and her lips parted. _Too late._ He smirked, and a look of panic fleeted across her face. He would really enjoy this.

He inclined his head and softly covered her lips with his. Of course she didn’t object to the kiss, it was what she was here for after all. Bending her to his will would be an exquisite way to spend the night. He let go of her hands and shifted so his weight wasn’t on her, resting on one elbow and placing his other hand on her waist, softly caressing her through the robes she was still wearing. She hadn’t told him, but he knew she liked it if he didn’t grope her too much before she was good and ready for it. He knew more about what she liked than she could possibly imagine. He was going to use it all to get his way.

He softly massaged her lips with his until she parted them again on a sigh and buried her hands in his hair, pulling him closer. Fighting a triumphant smile, he allowed it and set out to explore her warm, soft mouth with his tongue. She made a strangled sound of surprise at his continued efforts to be gentle; they were never gentle with each other. They were always tearing and bruising. How silly of her to be surprised. He would obviously need for her not to be able to anticipate his next move for this to work.

Slowly, he allowed his hand to slide up and knead her breast through her robes. Such nice breasts. They never got the attention they fully deserved. She moaned, obviously liking this new way of things. Interesting. “Say my name,” he mumbled against her lips.

She shook her head. No, he supposed not yet. But she would. Pulling back, he looked her in the eye, while lowering his breast-kneading hand to take off her belt. He had done it so many times by now that he didn’t need to look. In five seconds flat, he had it pulled off her without breaking eye contact. She flushed a little, but he suspected it was mostly from anticipation.

He began slowly pulling at her robes, gathering them at her waist, and she did nothing to stop him. Of course she didn’t. Her objections were purely outside of his bed. Inside it, she was always willing—at least when it was still before dawn.

He let his hand stray to her bared thigh and now he had to break eye contact. He wanted to look at her legs. Looking down, he fought hard to contain himself. Her legs were shapely, creamy goodness, coming together where… He stopped and stared. The girl seemed to have a few weapons of her own.

She giggled, and his head snapped up. “Like my underwear?” she purred.

“That’s new,” he muttered. Her underwear was usually the sensible, generic, slightly cute cotton thingies that he supposed most of the girls their age would wear. This wasn’t. This was a sexy red silk thong that made the blood rush from his head so fast that he almost got dizzy. It was all he could do not to rip it off her and have his way. The minx.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said in a voice sweet as sugar. “It’s a set, you know.”

He fought a groan. This was unfair. He wasn’t entirely sure that he could contain himself if he saw her clad in nothing but her red silk set. “You have one hell of a timing, Hermione,” he admonished in a hoarse whisper.

“That’s what _I_ thought,” she said, sitting up to remove her robes. “And here I thought that it was just the spur of the moment.”

He stared at her, seriously debating how much it was worth to have her saying his name. He could always make her later, after all. Her skin was flawless and smooth, and the red silk really did set off her complexion in the most delicious way. The bra cupped her breasts perfectly, making whisper-soft caresses as she moved, hinting at the delights to be found behind it. This time he was unable to suppress his groan. He definitely liked. Too bloody much.

“You know,” she purred, lying back, confident of her victory and causing the silk to ripple, “I never thought you’d let me keep it on this long.”

A certain part of Draco’s anatomy jerked at her words, and he fought hard to contain it. No, he couldn’t let her win. He’d get her back for this, and he would take a long, long time doing it. Yes, he knew just how. He forced his eyes away from her body and just smiled at her. “Cute,” he said, making her scowl. “But unless you say my name…”

She made a rude noise. “ _You_ should be saying _my_ name.”

He smiled and whispered in her ear: “I plan to. As I thrust into you over and over again… But only—” he paused as he felt her shudder, her breath coming faster “—but only after you say my name.” She whimpered a little but remained silent. Merlin, her stubborn streak was a mile wide.

_Just say it so I can do what we both want._

“Just take me,” she whispered, pressing her body against him. He nearly came undone at the feel of nothing but silk between their torsos and her blatant invitation.

He clenched his teeth and fought the need down. Who did he want to have the upper hand? He pushed her back down. “All in good time, my sweet.” He caressed her inner thigh, trying hard to just pick up where he’d left off. Her breathing was shallow. When he reached her knickers, he realized that she was more than ready for him and again he had to fight back his need. Instead, he let two fingers enter her, sending her into a frenzy.

Her creamy complexion was now tinged by a blush that even reached her lovely breasts. She was ready to come. He wouldn’t let her. He slowly caressed her, sliding his fingers in and out, forcing himself to think of something else. She was pleading with him now. “Say my name,” he choked out.

“W-will you take me if I do it?” she asked in a desperate voice.

 _Oh, Merlin, yes._ He nodded.

“Draco,” she breathed.

To finally hear her say his name sent a jolt of pleasure through him that was so intense that he had to fight not to embarrass himself by coming right then and there. “Say it again,” he choked out.

“Draco. Please…”

He ripped the remainders of their clothes off so violently that he thought he might have ripped her knickers. Whatever. If they couldn’t be repaired, he’d buy her new ones. A dozen new ones. He needed to be inside her _now_. She was pulling at him, urging him on.

Finally, he thrust inside of her, her sheath tightly surrounding him. He groaned. She must be close for her to be so tense. He thrust once more and felt the ripples of her orgasm around him. Oh, Merlin, this felt wonderful. He wanted to bury himself hard and deep, but he held back, prolonging the pleasure. He gently kissed her, and she devoured him in turn. He had to break it off.

“Don’t, you’re making me come,” he gasped.

“Draco…” she whispered, making him shudder with the need for release.

“Minx,” he growled.

“I thought you were going to say _my_ name,” she teased.

He moved slowly inside of her, savoring the feeling. “Hermione…” he moaned. This was agonizing and intense and felt nothing short of amazing. He wanted to make it last as long as he could. He had to close his eyes to block out her flushed, passionate face or he wouldn’t even have that.

She had begun moving against him again, and she was touching his burning, needy skin, caressing his chest and arms and back while he moved unbearably slow. “Please, Draco,” she whimpered. “Stop teasing.”

Her saying his name once again had him jerk and stop for a second to regain control. He had no idea how erotic it would sound coming from her lips. His body was slick with sweat from the effort, and he knew that once he came it would blow his mind. It took all he had not to strive for it, and he knew that next time he wouldn’t be able to stay in control. He began moving again, slightly faster.

This time he claimed a kiss to keep her silent just for a little while, so he could get her to come with him. He wouldn’t have thought he could last long enough, except she was tensing around him, becoming impossibly tight, making it impossible for him to think coherently. She was making sexy little unintelligible sounds. He slowly pushed her thighs up, making her open more, and him enter more deeply. Her eyes widened as if in surprise and then he felt it again, the ripples going through her, massaging him in a way that was beyond his willpower to resist.

She moaned his name, and he lost the battle. He trembled and without increasing his pace, he came in the most intense orgasm of his life. He felt it in every inch of his body, a burning tingle of pleasure that erupted into ecstasy and then ebbed into warm contentment. He had squeezed his eyes shut while the worst shudders went through him, but as he opened them again, he found her gazing dreamily at him.

 _Oh, Merlin_ , he thought in his dazed state. _I love her so much._


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione felt as if she’d just leapt off a cliff and landed in a pile of feathers. She would never get used to having sex with this boy. Just as she thought she had him figured out, he turned around and did something that blew her away. She would never have guessed that Draco had this kind of self-restraint in him, but what a ride… The way he had moaned her name when he came had made her breath catch and her heart start pounding all over again. Using each other’s first names really was too intimate, but he seemed to like it so much. And, in a way, she secretly did too.

She watched him as he slowly opened his eyes to look at her. They were filled with wonder and a warmth that made her breath catch all over again. Then his eyes widened in shock and the proverbial spell was broken.

It would perhaps be an exaggeration to say that he jumped off her, but he moved very quickly, seemingly eager to put some distance between them. Hermione wasn’t all that surprised, but it still stung a little. He was the one who had been… been doing whatever this was to _her_ —not the other way around.

It was always him, who initiated new intimacies, yet he always acted as if it had been her, who had done something, something horrible. As if he didn’t really want it. She pushed her hurt feelings down and openly rolled her eyes.

“What?” he asked, looking positively panicked.

“You’re freaking out,” she said in her best matter-of-fact voice. “Get over it. Not every time needs to be fast, hard, or perverted.”

“Felt pretty perverted to me,” he muttered, looking calmer, but still scowling and eyeing her warily.

What had she done to deserve this? He had wanted her to come here tonight, hadn’t he?

Clenching her teeth hard as to not show him any weakness, she sat up and began rummaging around for her clothes. She found her knickers first. They were damp and slightly ripped. She sighed and put them on anyway.

“What are you doing?” Draco had sat up to give her a confused look. Right. Be an arse, and then be confused about it.

“I’m getting dressed,” she calmly replied. “I don’t want to stay in your line of fire, so I’m leaving.” She clasped her bra.

He frowned a little, processing this. “I’m not doing anything!” he protested.

She shook her head. “No, but as soon as you recover from your surprise, you are going to figure that this was really all my fault and attack me for it. I’m leaving.”

He started. “W-what did I say?” he asked, looking even more pale than usual.

Hermione was getting annoyed now. Good. Anger and annoyance was better than hurt. “What do you mean ‘what did you say’? We had slow sex and now you’re acting as if… as if I don’t know any better!” She angrily reached out and grabbed her robes.

“No, wait!” His hand shot out to stop her before she could pull them on. “I promise I won’t take it out on you. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Stay.”

She really didn’t know what to think. He looked sincere. He looked as if he didn’t want her to go. He looked lonely. He slowly pulled her robes from her grasp, tossed them aside, and patted the bed beside him.

Against her better judgment, she found herself laying back down. He laid down next to her, not touching her, and not extinguishing the light, but merely watching her. It was unnerving.

Suddenly, he spoke. “We’re no good together out of bed, are we?”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes at him again. “Well, duh!” That was saying the least. They were only ever getting along when they were fooling around or sleeping. She couldn’t recall them ever having had just one nice conversation. They definitely weren’t friends.

He nodded and pulled her closer for a kiss. He was acting so strange, but she didn’t mind the kiss. She loved the kisses. Some days she thought that a day spent kissing him would be a day well-spent indeed. That was utter nonsense, of course, but it still felt nice. His lips were tracing hers, feeling them, as if he hadn’t been kissing the same lips for months now.

Actually, now she thought about it, it was now almost five months ago that he kissed her that night. Well, ok, he hadn’t just kissed her, but that had definitely been the start of it. She was surprised at how long ago it was, yet at the same time also surprised that it hadn’t been longer. It felt like a lifetime. It _had_ been a lifetime.

His hand on her waist pulled her a little bit closer, and he buried his other hand in her hair. He was insatiable. Hermione really didn’t know how he could keep being so enthusiastic about going at it all the time. She was exhausted and sated, and, yet, she had no doubt that if he wanted to go for round two, he would persuade her to join him, and she would love every minute of it.

He didn’t make a move to do so, however. He just… kissed her. His eyes were closed, and his lips were caressing and nibbling at hers in a way that once again had her heart pounding with something other than desire. She moved her hand from his arm up to his neck, and he moaned slightly at the simple caress. His heart was beating hard and fast against his chest, she was close enough to feel it.

He didn’t seem to be randy again, though. Instead he seemed almost agitated. She could feel it barely restrained in the way he held his body tense.

Hermione was confused. What was wrong? She opened her mouth to ask him, but his tongue sliding in to taste her effectively cut her off. She knew that he did it on purpose, that he didn’t want to hear her questions… And for now she let it go. After all, this kiss _did_ feel really nice. She put both arms around his neck and concentrated fully on the sensations.

Suddenly he broke it off, looking almost as horrified as he had before.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, and without looking at her, he extinguished the light, and, for the first time ever, he laid down to sleep without pulling her close to him again.

*****

Draco’s (it was hard for her to keep even thinking that name after night became day again) strange behavior didn’t seem to change much the next day. He didn’t look at her as she hurriedly got dressed, and he didn’t kiss her goodbye. He didn’t ask her when she’d come back either.

Hermione was, by now, used to him taking all initiative, so she didn’t know how to respond. In the end, she decided not to respond at all. He would come around again once his strange mood passed. And if he didn’t… if he didn’t, that was ok too. At least she tried telling herself that. Perhaps that was what he had been trying to tell her.

‘ _We’re no good together out of bed, are we?_ ’

But it just didn’t make sense after the way he had, well, almost made love to her. Perhaps that was the reason, perhaps he hadn’t liked that.

No, she could clearly tell what he liked in bed, and as far as sex went, that definitely had to go on at least his top three. She had never seen him that consumed by his own climax before. Perhaps he didn’t like liking it so much with a Mudblood…

Her final conclusion was that she probably didn’t want to know what was wrong. It had to be something unpleasant, and she preferred not to hear it. If he was going to end this thing, she would much rather that he spared her the details and just did it. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know it was coming sooner or later. As if they really had anything more than lust between them. Even if they _did_ —which they had time and again proved that they didn’t—it would never work. Nobody could know about this. Nobody would understand.

It was Thursday, which meant tutoring at the library in the afternoon. That could be the reason he hadn’t bothered securing an assignation. No, that didn’t make any sense—he always bothered. They met in the library three times a week—Monday and Wednesday night and Thursday afternoon, each time for a couple of hours, and this time was the first time he’d simply let her go in the morning.

Since when did it matter so much to her anyway? She couldn’t even meet him tonight, but it would be nice if he’d just ask…

“You know,” Hermione said, after they had settled down with their books that afternoon. “You don’t really need me to help you anymore. You’ve caught up nicely and if you’ll just continue to apply yourself…”

He briefly glanced at her. “I know,” he muttered. He didn’t elaborate.

He didn’t make any excuses to keep it up, nor did he suggest that they stop. He just kept reading his stupid book. For a flash, Hermione had the urge to tear the book from him and shout her frustration. Then she composed herself. This was nothing to be this upset about, she was clearly overreacting.

“You’re really quite clever,” she said. “I don’t know why you don’t bother more. There _is_ life after school, you know, and good grades might help there.”

That elicited a small smile from him and a teasing look that made her heart beat faster. “What do you know…” he mused. “Hermione Granger, the notorious Muggleborn know-it-all, just called me, a mere—pure-blood, of course—mortal, clever! This should be a national holiday.”

She wasn’t a know-it-all, was she? She hadn’t been that bad for years! No, he was just pulling her leg. This was not entirely new, but still… There had been no malice in the words, nor any innuendo, which was entirely new.

“As should the day you called me a competent witch!” she countered.

He looked a little taken aback at her words. Had he forgotten? He had probably never meant to say it in the first place, but he had been beside himself with jealousy at the time and had attacked her parentage.

‘They _are Muggles_ ; you _are a competent witch. You’d do better to disassociate yourself._ ’

She certainly hadn’t forgotten. It had possibly been the greatest compliment he had ever paid her—his recognition of her being a witch, and a competent one at that—even if it had been veiled in insults directed at her parents. He had even said it so naturally, as if her being a witch wasn’t a fact he’d normally dispute every chance he got.

She waited to see if he would comment further, but he didn’t. Instead, he fell silent again and stared down at his book.

“I can’t come tonight,” she finally said. “I’ve got my duties and then I plan on hanging out with Ron and Harry.”

He just nodded. He _never_ just nodded; he always had to make a fuss!

“And, of course, tomorrow is out of the question.”

He looked slightly puzzled. “Tomorrow is… Friday, isn’t it? What’s wrong with Friday?” So he did still want her to come? Or was this only because he didn’t know _why_ she couldn’t make it?

“It’s the fourteenth,” she said.

This didn’t seem to ring a bell with him.

“ _February_ the fourteenth?” she ventured.

This time there was a hint of wary recognition in his eyes.

“Anyway,” she continued, trying hard to ignore that look. “Since it’s on a Friday this year, there’s a Valentine’s bash at the Gryffindor common room, and I already agreed to go.”

She waited to see if he would comment or ask her any questions about, say, whether she had agreed to go _with_ anyone, but he merely nodded. This didn’t please her at all.

“So I can trust that nobody will turn purple?” she asked.

His head whipped up.

“Oh, come on, Malfoy,” she said, deliberately reverting to his last name and getting some satisfaction from the annoyance she was causing him. “You know I’m not that dense. I knew it was you all along, or, most likely, your cronies acting on your behalf.”

“Then why didn’t you confront me?” he asked. So that got his attention?

_I thought it was kind of cute and it wasn’t as if Cormac McLaggen didn’t deserve it._

No, she’d better not say that. “You had to get your pent-up aggressions out somehow, didn’t you?” she said instead. “And I’m sure _he_ could at least handle himself.”

Again, he only nodded and then paid more attention to his book than her. Hermione had to remind herself of the times she had had bad days and had been unresponsive or downright rejecting his advances. Still, she couldn’t keep from grinding her teeth.

*****

Hermione tossed her bag on her bed and left again without bothering to unpack it. She was in a terrible mood, and this time she did not have the excuse of hormones, yet she kept telling herself that she was horribly overreacting. So what if Draco was acting all distant? It was bound to happen sometime. He couldn’t always focus all his energies on her. So what if it had happened after the one time they had… Hermione blocked the thought. Last night had been no different than any other night. They had just gone a bit beyond, that was all.

She went up to the boys’ dormitories to see if Harry or Ron was around. They sometimes waited for her on Thursdays. Besides, she just really seemed to love hanging around boys’ dormitories lately. She finally reached the top of the tower and peeked in to find that Harry was indeed there with his back to her, seemingly inspecting something. Ron was nowhere in sight, though. He was probably off somewhere with Lavender.

“Hey, Harry,” she said, striving for a casual tone. Merlin, not letting her friends know what was going on with her was really hard sometimes. “Want to come for dinner?”

“In a second,” he muttered.

She went in and around him to see what he was looking at. It was the Marauder’s Map. She wouldn’t exactly say she had forgotten about it, but she hadn’t seen or heard about it for months.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

He looked up at her, a frown on his face. “You know what and who I am looking at.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. “I-I thought we agreed that he wasn’t—”

“No, Hermione, we didn’t agree. You decreed. I know he’s some pet project of yours, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still up to his old tricks.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Harry,” she huffed. “He’s been as tame as a kitten since I had him sign that contract. Just _what_ do you base this on?”

“Did you know,” Harry asked, more or less ignoring her last statement, “that when you leave him, he always goes to the Room of Requirement? Perhaps you can tell me what he’s doing there?”

_When I leave him… Oh, no! He can’t know!_

“W-what do you mean ‘when I leave him’?”

Harry gave her an odd look. “After your little study dates, of course.”

_Oh. Right. Of course…_

Hermione suppressed a sigh of relief. She had never considered what would happen if Harry one night took out his map to check if Draco was in his bed. With a pang, she realized that she couldn’t go there anymore. It had just become too dangerous. She was just thankful that she had been going back to the Gryffindor castle to set up the glamour for the past couple of months before meeting up with Draco.

“Well, then?” Harry persisted. “Do you know?”

“What? Oh. No… I don’t. But I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it.”

He made a disbelieving sound and rolled up the map. “Yeah… Let’s go get that dinner, shall we?”

*****

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts was never really anything spectacular. Not since Hermione’s second year where Gilderoy Lockhart had made such a vulgar display, which Hermione at the time had found quite charming. An excuse for a party was, however, an excuse for a party and the Gryffindors were all feeling the anticipation.

In the spirit of the day, the common room would also be open for dates from other houses. Somehow, however, Hermione doubted that included Slytherins. Not that she would have invited a certain Slytherin, but even had she wanted to and been able to… she couldn’t because of this mentality.

The segregation issue was really beginning to annoy her. Why didn’t anyone try to bridge the gaps? Professor Slughorn might be a rather silly and self-indulgent man, but at least _he_ didn’t enforce the house division. Instead, however, he made judgment on who would be successful and who wouldn’t and divided people because of that. There simply wasn’t anywhere that anyone from any house with any potential could go and _nobody seemed to care_! Instead the whole system seemed to enforce this bigoted way of thinking.

Also, why was Shaw constantly hanging around Draco instead of Zabini at mealtimes? He’d said he wasn’t into her, and Hermione believed him as far as she’d believe any boy wasn’t into a beautiful blonde, blue-eyed girl with a chest that Hermione could only dream of ever getting—but they sure did seem friendly. Shouldn’t Shaw be eating lunch with her boyfriend on Valentine’s Day at least?

How typical. Finally Pansy was out of the picture and then all of a sudden there was someone even worse to compete with.

Hermione knew she was being paranoid and unreasonable, but she just couldn’t seem to stop herself. When Shaw handed Draco a card with dancing hearts on it, and he accepted with a lopsided smile, Hermione decided that she didn’t want any more lunch anyway and left the hall.

*****

Hermione figured she had a few options. One was, of course, to wait Draco’s odd mood out and see what happened, but she was sick of being passive. Another option was to forget that she was a prefect, dip into the firewhisky at the party, and see if Gryffindor had someone who was a better kisser than McLaggen. That one was not entirely without merit. The last option she could think of was to demand answers, which would be a tricky business indeed.

She had yet to entirely make up her mind, as she was making her way back to the common room when school was finally out. Unwittingly, just then she came across Draco talking to Crabbe and Goyle in a hallway on the second floor. She really didn’t understand why he felt he needed to be the leader of such a dimwitted gang. Right now he didn’t look pleased with them either.

Seeing him made up her mind for her. She caught his eye and almost imperceptibly nodded in the direction she was going, to get him to follow her. He didn’t react, so she thought he might have missed it or was ignoring her, but, nevertheless, she stopped around the corner and waited.

A few minutes later he turned the corner as well.

“What?” he asked, giving her a decidedly guarded look. Good grief, what did he _think_ she wanted? Cards with hearts on them? She almost laughed out loud even though she was hardly amused. God forbid she might want that sort of recognition. God forbid she might want even a kiss from him today.

“We’re close to being found out,” she said, deciding that now was not the time to badger him after all. She didn’t trust herself not to say something she might regret if she did.

He gave her an incomprehensive look. She sighed.

“Harry has this… way of seeing where people are. He could notice if I go to you, so I can’t anymore.” _Like you care. You’re already bored with this, aren’t you?_

He frowned slightly and slowly nodded. “And this _way_ is new?” He bloody well knew it wasn’t, so why did he even ask?

“No…” Hermione didn’t know whether to glare or fidget, so with some effort she decided against doing both, “but I didn’t really realize the risk before.”

“You mean: you didn’t realize he was spying on me.” He sounded unnaturally calm. It was so unlike him. Everything was so unlike him.

“He’s not spying on you,” she insisted. “He’s just… checking that you aren’t up to anything.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“It’s not like he’s following you or anything,” she muttered.

“Except for the times when he is,” he pointed out.

Hermione didn’t know how to answer that. She remembered the time they had been in a closet and Harry and Ron had been stalking Draco. She was also well aware that Harry had been following him a few times since without his knowledge.

“Well…” she finally said. “It’s not exactly like you’re being forward about what you’re up to.”

There was a tic in his jaw. “And what exactly is it that you want me to be forward about?” he asked.

Why did he look at her like that? He didn’t think she meant _them_ , did he? Good grief, he was actually afraid that she might want to take their relationship further? She tried not to think about how this revelation made her feel. “I mean whatever it is you’re sneaking off to do. Harry thinks it’s something really bad.”

“And you don’t?” he asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

She shrugged. No, she didn’t. She didn’t really think him capable of it anymore.

“That’s your mistake,” he said. His face was suddenly stony.

Hermione blinked. What? “It’s a mistake to think that you wouldn’t do something nasty?”

“Nothing’s changed,” he coldly replied. “What we’re doing doesn’t change my views or priorities. You should know this.”

That stung. No, it didn’t sting, it bloody hurt. Just how much did she have to take from him today? “So you still think I’m worth less than what’s under your shoe?” she asked much too quietly.

For a few moments he didn’t look like he would reply. She had to look away and blink a few times as her vision became suspiciously blurry. Why did she let him do this to her? “No,” he finally said. It was clipped out as if it cost him great effort. “But just because I won’t cheer at your funeral, doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t rather be rid of your precious friends for good.”

She looked at him again. He had just acknowledged the barest minimum of regard for her, but that didn’t assure her as much as it might have only a few minutes ago. “And how far would you go in achieving that?” she asked.

“You don’t want to know,” was his reply.

No, she suspected that she really didn’t. “Well,” she said a little shakily. “I… have to go.” She turned and fled.

*****

Hermione groaned and desperately tried to block out the light. She felt as if she ought to be dead. Her tongue was swollen and her throat felt dry as parchment, while her head was throbbing in the most painful and nauseating beat. She swallowed as her stomach lurched at the movement she had made.

“Go away,” she rasped at the offender who had opened her drapes.

“I would love to,” said a female voice belonging to Lavender Brown. “But Ron begged me to give you this.” She shoved a plate of toast at Hermione, who promptly leaned over the side of her bed and vomited.

“Sod off, Lavender,” another voice said. Ginny. “Can’t you see she’s sick, you moron?” Right now Ginny was Hermione’s favorite person in the world, especially because she hadn’t raised her voice.

“She just got smashed last night, probably because she couldn’t get a date. I hardly think that warrants any sympathy!” Lavender huffed as she left.

Hermione winced at the grating voice and then leaned back and tried hard to remember. No, it wasn’t because she had been dateless that she had started drinking. It had been because she had been hurt by Draco’s words and drowning her sorrows had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

She had thought it to be great fun to demand a bribe in the form of a tithe in order to not confiscate everyone’s alcohol. Little had she known how happily they would all pay and just how _much_ alcohol they had. She strongly suspected that she hadn’t even come close to drinking the amount she had demanded, and she was really happy that she hadn’t, because this hangover was bad enough as it was.

She groaned and then sighed with relief as Ginny blocked out the sunlight for her and scourgified the vomit. She was quite possibly an angel in disguise.

“Why _did_ you get smashed?” Ginny softly asked. “It’s not like you at all.”

Hermione had a few flashes of the party last night. Ron and Harry had been surprised, amused, and then concerned at her abandon. She remembered Ron suggesting that perhaps it was time for her to go to bed, which she had replied to by demanding more liquor. Fortunately, it didn’t seem as if she had followed up on the whole ‘trying to find a better Gryffindor kisser’ thing. Imagine having to look people in the eye after that.

“I don’t know,” Hermione forced out and swallowed as the bed moved when Ginny sat down on it, making her sick again. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“I hope you got rid of your demons,” Ginny said, “because I’d hate to see you pull more stunts like this. The school song will never be the same to any of us again.”

Hermione winced a little at that particular memory. 

The only demon she needed to get rid of was Draco Malfoy, and she didn’t want to get rid of him, not really. It was a bitter potion to swallow, but in spite of all his mean words, she had missed him last night, and she missed him now as well. She would much rather have woken up in his bed after a night of debauchery than in her own bed after a night of drink. She’d had to drink until she could barely walk just to keep from seeking him out. He clearly didn’t want her to, and she’d be damned before she humiliated herself like that.

“I’d hate it too,” Hermione whispered, clenching her teeth to keep her stomach in place as Ginny shifted on the bed again. “You don’t need to lecture me,” she said when it was safe to speak again. “Trust me, I know it was stupid.”

“I’m not lecturing you,” Ginny replied. “And you were hardly the only one to go a bit overboard last night either. I’m just wondering.”

“Don’t,” Hermione replied. “Just please don’t. I’m fine. Or I will be as soon as the room stops spinning.”

Ginny got up. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Try coming down for lunch. And some non-alcoholic fluids might help you too.”

She left and Hermione slipped into the blessed darkness again.

*****

Hermione did make it down to lunch. She was still pale, queasy, and slightly unsteady on her feet, but the extra sleep had done her a world of good, and she was starving.

When she approached the Gryffindor table, however, they all started whooping and cheering and banging their plates to her great mortification and headache. Would she ever live this down? She ducked her head, trying to conceal her pink cheeks as she tried just slipping into a seat near her friends.

She didn’t miss the attention she was now getting from the other tables, and certainly not a certain penetrating grey stare, so when people continued to make grinning remarks and sing the school song in imitations of last night, she recognized that she might as well play along for now.

Placing a bright smile on her face, she did just that.

*****

“So what exactly did you do last night to make your house greet you so enthusiastically?”

Hermione jumped at the voice. She had opted to not stay in her common room to study since that would mean getting no studying done today for her. Instead, she had found a nice quiet space on the sixth floor, a room with a comfortable couch that she was currently lounging on with her books spread out. It looked like an unused office of sorts, and Hermione didn’t think she was breaking any rules by being there. That Draco had found her suggested that he had possibly been looking for her for some time, since Ginny was the only one who knew where she was at, and she wouldn’t have told him.

She didn’t know how to feel about him looking for her after yesterday.

“I slept with them all in the middle of the common room,” she said. “It was fun, you should have been there.”

He laughed. He seemed genuinely amused. Hermione’s own lips twitched a little. She couldn’t imagine saying something like this to anyone else under any other circumstance. He was the only one that brought out this other non-Hermionic side of her. Whether it was a good thing in any way remained to be seen.

“Forgive me,” he said, not looking contrite in the least, “but I can’t seem to believe that.” He came in and closed the door with a soft click.

She shrugged. She hadn’t really looked up from her books. She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want him to say more hurtful things to her. Perhaps if she didn’t look at him, he wouldn’t. Perhaps he would just go away, but then again—she didn’t want that either.

She hated the way he made her so skittish around him. She hated the way she seemed to lose her independence around him. She hated the way he made her feel about herself, about her friends, about her life, and about him. She hated the way she always wanted to _be_ around him.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly said. “I know I shouldn’t have said those things yesterday.”

“Didn’t you mean them?” she asked.

He was quiet. It was a telling silence.

“Then there’s not much more to say about it, is there?” she said, the tiny hope gone.

“We shouldn’t always say what we think,” he said. “I was out of line.”

“You were terrified that I might want to be your Valentine,” she said as calmly as she could. “So you made sure that I didn’t.” Except she did, didn’t she? She’d be damned if he’d ever know.

“I already said I was sorry, what more do you want?”

What _did_ she want? She recognized the absurdity of wanting him to be someone that he was not. If he was someone else, then he wouldn’t be _him_ , and she wouldn’t be attracted to him. Still, she wished that he would be just a little bit less himself sometimes.

“I want…” What did she want? What could she let him know that she wanted? “I don’t want _this_ ,” she finally admitted on a sigh.

“Neither do I!” he said so forcefully that she had to look up at him. He had apparently been leaning on the door until just now where he pushed away from it to glare at her. A lock of his hair was getting into his eye, and she wanted to brush it away.

She quickly looked back at her book.

“I don’t want to want you,” he continued. “But I do. What am I supposed to do about it?”

Hermione felt a jolt go through her and her face heated up. She knew he had wanted her sexually before, but she had been far from sure that he still did. She was glad he did—happy even. Yet it was both gratifying to hear him say it and hurtful to know how little he wanted it. Apparently he still did find her beneath him.

“You could stay away,” she muttered, afraid to look at him. “It’s not like there’s nobody else you could… could do it with.”

“Yeah? Look how well I’m doing at staying away so far,” he said. “You only have to look at me and I—” He broke off the sentence, uttering a thoroughly exasperated sigh.

She finally looked up at him again. “You’re saying that it’s all my doing? That I’m like some Veela?” How typical of him to try and put it on her, to find excuses for why he might be wanting to sleep with the boring little Mudblood prude!

“You’re worse than a Veela,” he said. “But no. It’s me. I’m weak and I can’t resist touching you…” He looked as if he very much wanted to touch her right now, but he didn’t make a move to do so. Nor did he say anything more. He just stared her down, daring her to come with a reaction.

He didn’t even have an idea how much he hurt her, did he? She had to fight back the pain, she had to. He couldn’t know how much power his words had over her.

“I’m _sorry_ that it’s so much of a hassle for _you_ ,” she said, numbly aware of the sharpness in her voice. “If I had _realized_ how much of a _chore_ it was for you to sleep with me, I can _assure_ you that I wouldn’t have succumbed to your advances so easily!” She snapped the book shut and got up.

He looked truly confused. “Chore?” he asked. “Aren’t you listening?”

“I think I heard enough,” she said, gathering her things. The common room was looking much better to her now.

“I think you didn’t hear me at all,” he said, going to her. He took the books from her hands, threw them down on the couch, and, grabbing her arms, he forced her to look at him. “My family is in deep with the Dark Lord. I could get us _all_ killed for wanting you, and yet I still do and you call it a _chore_? This is a real threat, Hermione. I can’t just ignore it. It won’t just go away.”

Hermione felt a little dizzy and it had nothing to do with last night’s overindulgence and only a little to do with his nearness. Of course she had been aware of some danger in being connected to him, but she hadn’t really considered the very much less-than-shallow risks he might be taking. If he was telling the truth, then maybe he wasn’t just being mean to her? It was a silly hope that she immediately tried to thwart. “It’s just sex,” she breathed. “He won’t care.”

Draco smiled cynically. “How many lives do you want to bet on that?”

She had to look away. She felt she might have severely misjudged him, and she cursed herself for wanting it to be the case. “What do you plan to do about it then?”

“What _can_ I do?” he almost whispered. “I can’t stay away, can I? But nobody can know, Hermione. Nobody.”

He had pulled her closer and was leaning in for a kiss. There was a small voice inside her head telling her that this was a very unwise move and that she should stop it, but it was drowned in the clamoring of voices that desperately wanted the caress, needed it. Her eyes drifted shut, and she willingly offered her lips.

There was a loud gasp and a clank behind them.

They both whirled around to see a pair of big, golden, horrified eyes in a face curtained by ginger tresses.

_Oh, no, Ginny!_

The redhead closed her mouth, shot them a look of pure loathing, and turned on her heel and left. Hermione looked down to see the drink tray that had fallen to the floor before she ventured a glance at Draco. He looked frozen in place, his eyes cold and distant.

_He thinks Ginny might talk. He’s going to end it._

The thought was unbearable. “I-I can fix this,” she said desperately. “Don’t… don’t worry.” She hurried out the door after Ginny, praying she could get her to not tell Ron or Harry.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco watched Hermione go with cold detachment.

 _Don’t bother_ , he wanted to say. _It won’t change anything. It’s enough that she knows._

But it did matter. They still had to do damage control. So he stayed quiet and blessed the recurrence of his ability to shut down all feelings. If he had ever needed it, now was the time.

He had revealed his need and the danger to Hermione and it was all for nothing. His lips had barely touched hers before it was all over.

_All over. Forever._

No, he mustn’t think about that now. He would have plenty of time to lament his loss later, but now it was all about getting that stupid little Weasley bitch to keep her mouth shut.

Merlin, how he hated her.

He had a few ideas about how he could forcibly erase the memory from her mind, but he was well aware that Hermione would never let him. She might even hate him for even suggesting it. He considered doing it anyway, as he was well aware of the risk the mere presence of the knowledge presented, but at the thought of all the things that could go wrong, Draco dropped the idea. By using a spell, he could render the chit brain-dead or worse. It wasn’t because he cared if her brain stopped functioning—she was a Weasley after all and it hardly made a difference—but because of the pain it would cause Hermione, and how much she would despise him for it. Soon she would be hurting and despising him anyway, but at least she would still have her friend.

He fucking hated caring about her. He hated caring about her feelings. He hated the way she could turn those big brown eyes on him and make him feel like an absolute cad when he was only telling the truth. He hated that he was almost certain that he’d made her cry yesterday. He hated that he was completely certain that he would make her cry again. Possibly today.

He wished he could just go back to hating her.

_Ah, but you never hated her quite as much as you should, did you?_

Draco had to admit that he hadn’t. He had always lived a very sheltered existence and Hermione had been one of the first Muggleborn he had ever met, as far as he knew. He would probably not even have noticed her at first if she hadn’t been hanging around that annoying, self-righteous Potter. It wasn’t that he’d been attracted to her, he had been too young to even contemplate that, but he just hadn’t felt the same level of contempt for her as he did for Saint Potter and the Weasel, even after he found out about her birth. He had made up for it in insults as best he could, but it just hadn’t seemed to work. She just wasn’t what he’d expected from everything he’d ever heard about Mudbloods.

Still, it was a long way from not quite hating someone to… to…

Draco’s volatile feelings threatened to resurface, and he blocked out the thought. He didn’t have time for that now. He had to stay composed so he could do what needed to be done.

As calmly as he could, he waited.

When Hermione finally came back, she was looking shaken and her eyes were red-rimmed. It apparently hadn’t gone so well.

“Will she talk?” Draco asked, dimly aware that his voice was cool and distant.

Hermione glanced at him and then swallowed. “No… no, she won’t,” she said shakily. He could tell she wasn’t telling him everything.

“Then what?” he asked.

Hermione looked as if she might cry, and he hadn’t even started yet. What the fuck had that pathetic little excuse for a witch been saying to her? He felt anger swelling in him and he tamped it down.

“She said…” she began and then faltered before taking a breath and trying again. “She told me that I had to tell my friends.”

“Not a chance, Granger,” he said. Hermione’s eyes widened at the use of her last name. “You won’t tell them a _thing_ ,” he coldly pushed on.

“She won’t stand by and let this continue,” she whispered, clearly realizing where this was going.

He had to get out of there. He couldn’t do this. Not yet. “Been fun,” he said. “But you knew as well as I did that it was over the second she saw us.”

“What happened to ‘can’t stay away’?” she whispered. “What happened to ‘can’t resist’?”

Draco’s control was slipping fast; he needed to end this _now_. He violently grasped her shoulders, digging his fingers into her soft flesh through the fabric of her robes, sneering into her frightened face. “I told you that _nobody_ can know,” he growled, slightly shaking her. “What do you think this is? Some epic love story? We fucked, we got caught, and now it’s _over_! Real life caught up, princess.” He thrust her away, sending her stumbling, and he walked away, willing himself not to flinch at the muffled sound of her sobs.

*****

Draco was soon finding himself fighting a losing battle. He had gone to his newly found secret refuge, the bloody bathroom on second floor. That whiny little ghost they called Moaning Myrtle was effectively keeping everyone at bay, and nobody would dream of looking for him here. His hands clasped tightly on a stone sink, he was hyperventilating.

 _It’s not too late_ , he thought. _If I go back and tell her I’m sorry…_

NO! He couldn’t. She’d be as good as dead. They would all be. An image flashed through his mind of Hermione dead, her eyes glossed over and unseeing.

He grasped the sink even harder. He could do this; he could let her go.

To her, it was just sex anyway. Sex wasn’t worth dying for. Not unless there was more. Was there more? NO! It didn’t matter. It wasn’t worth her dying. His miserable existence would be snuffed soon enough, but she would live! The war might kill her yet, but he couldn’t be the reason. He just couldn’t.

“What’s wrong?” Myrtle asked, popping her head through a stall.

Of course. It had been too much to ask to just be left alone.

“Nothing,” he gasped, mildly surprised at how hard it was for his body to register the oxygen. “I just need to…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t finish it. What was he supposed to say? ‘I just need to pick up the pieces of my heart, so I can go out there and pretend that I can’t stand the girl starring in all my dreams and my every bloody waking fantasy’? He was screwed.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Myrtle observed. “You can tell me.”

He wanted to, he realized to his great surprise. He longed to tell someone. But he couldn’t. Myrtle wasn’t the brightest of people—or ghosts—and couldn’t be trusted not to let something slip.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Please leave me alone.”

He wished he had appreciated Hermione more—been nicer to her or something. He ached just to hold her again and cursed himself for not savoring it while he had the chance. He had assumed there’d be another time, another chance. There wouldn’t now, not ever. Even if the Dark Lord were defeated, they wouldn’t have a chance. He was on the wrong side. He would kill Dumbledore or die trying, and she would forever hate him for his treachery. Even if she might come to understand his motives, she would hate him for not doing what she’d call the _right_ thing.

The odds of him surviving the next few months were extremely bad, anyway.

When he had realized that he did indeed love her, he had wanted to break it off right away. He knew that while there might be some quarter given when it was just a physical relationship, loving her was unacceptable. Even his parents might cut him off for that. But then, after he had done some thinking, he had arrived at the conclusion that he was likely to die and that nobody would get hurt by him stealing a little happiness before that happened. He would love Hermione so often and so well that she would have no cause for complaint. He would make _sure_ that she wouldn’t regret it, even after she realized what he was.

But it hadn’t worked out like that. They had been caught before he could even get a satisfying kiss.

He felt the dampness on his cheeks and sneered at his own mirror image.

_Get a grip!_

He couldn’t get a grip. Once the dam was breached, the flow only got worse.

He would never touch her again. Never kiss her. She would never know how much he longed to. She would have to be convinced that he was a coldhearted bastard who had only been using her, when nothing could be further from the truth.

A heart-wrenching sob racked his body.

“It gets better if you talk about it…” Myrtle said in a gentle voice.

And to his own great horror, he did

*****

Draco took to avoiding Hermione, but he knew he was living on borrowed time. She would bounce back and seek him out once enough time had passed. She might think herself weak and him a cold and arrogant prat, but in reality she was gutsy and determined, and she knew him much better than either of them would openly admit. These were all things he loved about her, but it was also what made him need to be ruthless to her. If she started pursuing him, he would without a doubt succumb to her advances, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

A week passed. Two. The days blurred together, and the weeks just kept passing. Draco was both glad that he was allowed time to compose himself and wishing that it would truly be over. Not even almost killing Ronald Weasley by mistake cheered him. It was probably the ‘almost’ bit, because Merlin knew he would love to see the whole Weasley branch eradicated.

Potter getting brained at yet another Quidditch match that Draco chose to miss, helped a little more, but again—the fact that he’d get over it ruined it. That, and the way he caught a glimpse of a worried and relieved Hermione later that day. He could never wish unhappiness on her. If Potter living made her happy, then he would almost gladly tolerate his existence.

This annoyed him. Since when was he _such_ a lovesick fool? He’d never get the girl, and if this was being in love, then good riddance! He didn’t like being subject to her every mood and whim when they hadn’t even spoken in weeks! He didn’t like pining for her at night! He didn’t like all this… _feeling_! Gladly tolerate Potter’s existence, indeed!

Still, he wouldn’t change a thing about what had happened. If he could do it all over, he’d only not get caught.

Ginny Weasley was looking at him with even more contempt than she usually did, which really didn’t bother him at all, but her relationship with Hermione also seemed strained. What was wrong with the brainless little bitch? Couldn’t she tell that Hermione probably would need a friend who knew what was going on, right about now? Hermione might not love him, but he had been her first lover, and he was by now being an enormous wanker towards her at every chance he got. He saw the hurt in her eyes when he taunted her, and it tore at him. The Weasley chit should be comforting her, not judging her.

Merlin knew that _he_ was glad that he had someone he could confide at least partly in, even though it was just a silly ghost, and even though he couldn’t be too specific. Somehow it made everything a little easier, to hear someone tell him that he wasn’t the worst creep on the planet and that it would all be all right. Even if he knew it was all a lie.

He was deep in thought as he was quickly walking along the fourth floor corridor. The place was deserted as classes had already started. He was late again, and he didn’t really care.

Suddenly a certain brunette stepped out from the shadows to block his way.

“Get out of my way, Mudblood,” he snarled. Their agreement had expired as soon as he hadn’t needed her anymore, which was ironic in its own way.

“No,” Hermione replied in a clear and steady voice.

“I’m late for class,” he said, attempting to push her away, but finding himself at wandpoint.

“Isn’t that just too bad?” she coolly asked. “We will talk.”

He never thought he’d see the day when she didn’t care about classes. “I have nothing to talk to the likes of you about,” he responded. “Now get that wand out of my face and scram.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re trying too hard,” she informed him. “Why?”

“On the contrary, my little Mudslut, I stopped trying at all.” He leaned his shoulder lazily against the wall.

“I don’t believe you.”

He sighed. “Look, Granger,” he calmly said. “I know that I’ll be hard to top in the sack, but you really have to let it go.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Who _are_ you?”

_You don’t want to know._

“You bloody well know who I am,” he said irritably. “It’s not my fault that you’re so fucking gullible that you’ll jump into bed with anyone who makes moony eyes at you.”

He noticed the hurt before she managed to hide it. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? He wanted to pull her close and kiss her until the world went away and instead he had to stand here, watching her just accept the blows. Why? Why couldn’t she just give it up? Why couldn’t she stop being so bloody stubborn, just this once?

“I didn’t see you complaining,” she calmly replied. “In spite of me being a _Mudblood_ and all.”

“Well,” he said, deliberately giving her his most lecherous look. “I have to admit that you were good. You could easily go pro, you know… I guess your kind has _some_ uses.”

She gasped as if he’d slapped her. In a sense, he supposed he had. He calmly met her eyes. She was obviously fighting for some control. He wished that she would slap him and tell him never to go near her again.

“This isn’t the last of it,” she said in a trembling voice, before she turned and walked away from him.

He was afraid that she was right.

*****

Draco didn’t drink. Alcohol made people do stupid and embarrassing things, and he had never seen the appeal of it. He preferred to point and laugh at those who did drink and perhaps blackmail them the next day using photographs of them in assorted compromising positions. At least that was his usual _modus operandi_.

Tonight he had decided to forget all that and had robbed Crabbe’s stash. Well, not literally robbed. He had, in fact, paid generously for the goods. He just really wanted to sleep tonight and he had been assured that if he consumed enough firewhisky, then he would sleep soundly for several hours. He was currently working on that. He couldn’t drink too fast, though, or he would just get sick. Fortunately, it probably wouldn’t take much, since he wasn’t used to the stuff.

He grimaced as he took another gulp. It burned. He actually rather liked that feeling; it matched his mood. But it still took some getting used to.

He was lounging on a comfortable sofa in the common room, which was already deserted. Maybe not ‘already’ since it was two in the morning, but it was Friday and that usually meant that some people stayed up later. Still, it didn’t matter; he didn’t want to be sociable.

Another swallow; another grimace.

When was this stuff supposed to start working, anyway? He didn’t feel anything. He was tired, to be sure, but he always was. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since he had to sleep alone again. Before, he used to either not have the nightmares or to wake up and hear Hermione’s soft breathing and feel her slow heartbeat as her warm body was snuggled against him. He would bury his face in her wild hair, and it would calm him and lull him right back to sleep. The cold, empty darkness didn’t quite have the same effect.

He was lifting the glass to his lips again as Shaw entered the room from the dormitories. Perhaps she couldn’t sleep either.

“Drinking alone, Draco?” she asked, sounding amused. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Shut up,” he said unceremoniously as he took another swig.

“You’re such a prat,” she said, but instead of leaving him alone, she went over and sat down next to him. Unfortunately she knew him well enough not to take his words at face value. “Can a girl have a taste?”

“Only got one glass,” he said, about to lift it again, as it was lifted from his hand, and she drained it. He looked at her with some amusement; the girl was certainly not shy.

“So,” she said, grimacing. Draco was glad he wasn’t the only one doing that. “I know why I’m drinking, why are you?”

“None of your fucking business,” he said, snatching back the glass and refilling it.

“You’re such a bundle of joy tonight, Draco,” she said, leaning back and stretching, which incidentally showed off her breasts to an advantage. Draco didn’t even bother hiding his glance, as he was perfectly aware that she knew it too. “I bet you it’s a girl,” she added.

“I already told you it was none of your business,” he said irritably, downing half of his glass and wincing as the burn brought tears to his eyes. He coughed slightly.

“She pretty?” she teased. “How does it feel, not having the luxury of not caring?”

“So, what are _you_ up to, Marilyn?” he countered. “Still mooning after Zabini while he sneaks off to shag Pansy? Or doesn’t he even bother to sneak anymore?”

That got a rise out of her. “What the fuck do _you_ know?” she growled, again snatching his drink and swigging it. Her eyes were shiny and her cheeks were tinged with red. Draco felt a brief pang of empathy, as he realized that she might be feeling some of the same things he was.

“I know that it’s about time you got over him and moved on,” he said, accepting his glass back. “He doesn’t even respect you. Why the hell do you let him carry on like this?”

“Look who’s talking,” she sneered. “Treated Pansy like dirt for months and now you’re here, drinking, because whoever she is doesn’t want you. You’re one fucked up mess, you know that?”

“Who said she didn’t want me?” he said tonelessly, regretting it the minute the words were out. Perhaps this stuff had an effect after all. He’d better be careful.

Marilyn’s eyes widened. “If she does want you, then—”

“Just stay the fuck out of it!” he growled. “It’s none of your goddamn business why I’m doing this!”

She moved closer to him. “Fine,” she said. “But I get to have more of that drink.”

He handed her his glass. Three quarters of the bottle was gone now. Was that a lot? He had no clue. But his thoughts were less intense and that was a relief in itself. She leaned in to get the bottle from him, and his eyes fell on her chest again. She giggled.

“Want to feel them?” she asked, taking another generous swig of the golden liquid.

His eyes widened slightly. “Merlin, Marilyn, no!” he said.

“Why not?” she asked. “You wouldn’t be the first. Probably not the last, either.”

“You’re drunk!” he said, relieving her of his glass and booze. “Go to bed.”

“Yours or mine?” she asked, winking at him.

“Yours,” he said without hesitation.

She pouted a little. She had the art of pouting down to perfection. “I don’t want to,” she said. “Why do you have to be such a stickler?”

“You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“No, I won’t,” she said, moving closer to him on all fours on the couch. “What’s the problem? People think we’re doing it anyway…”

“I’m not Zabini,” he said. “It’s not me you want.”

He was, however, unable to not react to her proposition. He doubted any boy in school would be immune. He shifted a little so she wouldn’t notice.

She smiled sadly. “If you were Blaise, I would want a whole lot more than just this. As it is, however, this will do.” She leaned closer and kissed him.

He jumped back. “Fuck, Marilyn, stop it!” he exclaimed.

It was all of a sudden as if his mind was wrapped in wool and he found it hard to think coherently, but he knew he didn’t really want this. At the same time, he was well aware of how soft she felt against him, and how lonely these past weeks had been.

His weakness when it came to women really was overwhelming.

She leaned in and kissed him again, and this time he pulled her closer, crushing her, willing her to object, to push him away. She didn’t. She was soft and compliant. He longed for something warm and yielding. He couldn’t turn her down, didn’t want to say no again.

Blocking out all thought, he aimed to forget.

*****

He woke up, heart pounding. He hadn’t had a nightmare, but something was bothering him, making him feel guilty and on edge. This was combined with a slight headache and a sour taste in his mouth. Right. He had been drinking. With a start, he realized that he wasn’t alone.

_Hermione?_

No, not Hermione. His heart sinking and bile rising in his throat, he realized what he had allowed to happen. He edged as far away from the sleeping form as he could, lighting his wand, before poking her with a foot.

“Wake up!” he whispered, not quite wanting to hear his own voice. If he didn’t, then maybe this wasn’t real. “Go back to your own bed!” _Yes, please go back to your bed. I don’t want you sleeping in mine._

“Hmpf,” Marilyn mumbled sleepily. “Back to your charming old self, are you?” she sat up, stretching and yawning, allowing him a perfectly good view of her naked body. He looked away.

“You don’t want Zabini seeing you coming from my bed, do you?” he asked bitterly. He hadn’t wanted this.

“You know perfectly well that he wouldn’t care,” she replied as she was slipping on her underwear. “And that if he did, I would be thrilled.”

Yes, he knew. But he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough. “Just leave,” he said.

She smiled a little sadly at him. “Don’t worry, she’ll never know. Not from me.”

An involuntary shudder went through him and his vision got blurry. “Get out of here,” he whispered.

She pulled on her robes. “I thought that there was no way that you could be worse off than me, but I was wrong. I don’t envy your being in love with Granger, what with the Dark L—”

“ _WHAT?_ ” He had blanched and was staring at her.

She stopped in the middle of righting her robes and gave him a reproachful look. “I’m not stupid, Draco,” she said. “You said her name.”

Had he? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to try. He had just put Hermione in an even greater danger than she already was. He gripped his wand tighter and wondered what it would take to right this wrong.

“No need to look at me like that,” she continued. “Your secret is safe with me. I have no reason to want to hurt either of you.”

“I’ll kill you before you hurt her,” he said, not caring how revealing that statement was.

She nodded. “I suspected as much. But do be careful what names you call your partners, not everyone is as accepting as me.”

“And why would you accept being used to fill in for a Mudblood?” he had to ask.

“I already knew I was being used, as were you, and my brother married one to our parents’ great chagrin. They’re a lot like us, really, aren’t they?”

He didn’t reply. No, they weren’t. If Hermione was anything to go by, they were a whole lot better.

Marilyn smiled softly at him. “See you around,” she quietly said and then slipped out and disappeared.

He laid down and finally gave in to the overwhelming sense of remorse that was threatening to consume him.

_Now she has even more reason to hate me. All I wanted was her, and I can’t even tell her._

He knew that he wasn’t with Hermione anymore; he knew that he never really had been. He knew that he couldn’t ever be with her again. Still, he felt as if he’d betrayed her. He knew without a doubt that she’d feel the same way if she ever found out. He swallowed hard and tears sprang to his eyes for Merlin only knew what time since that dreadful day they were found out. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want her to hate him. He desperately wanted her to fall in love with him too.

But he knew what he had to do.

*****

Draco didn’t have to wait long. In fact, the wait was lamentably short. He almost panicked when she managed to corner him in public. He couldn’t use force to intimidate her or rush off without attracting attention now. Still, her plan was somewhat flawed, it seemed, for he wouldn’t be able to speak to her civilly either. This didn’t seem to faze her.

“Why don’t you go play with those first-year Hufflepuffs a bit?” he asked Crabbe. “It seems like they don’t know the rules.” He nodded towards a group of children whose only offense was not staying sufficiently out of the way. “You too, Goyle.”

They looked at him oddly but obeyed. They weren’t quite ready to disobey him yet, but they were becoming a liability. They knew that his family’s standing with the Dark Lord was rapidly decreasing, and if he didn’t finish his mission soon, they would rebel. He supposed it was pure survival instinct on their part.

“Charming,” Hermione drily said. “For my benefit, I suppose?”

_She looks lovely today. Did someone tell her? They should._

“What do you want, Granger? I haven’t got all day.” He looked away, as he couldn’t quite look her in the eye, his heart still pounding with near-panic. Instead he caught Marilyn’s eye over Hermione’s shoulder. She wasn’t close enough to hear anything that was said, but her look of sympathy was apparent.

“I want you to fulfill the last part of our agreement,” she calmly said.

“What are you talking about?” he sneered.

She smirked at him. “Conveniently forgot, did you? My free request.”

‘ _I get one free request. At any time I may ask you for any one thing and you will have to do or give it._ ’

He _had_ forgotten. He could think of nothing that he could do or give that would not conflict with his own stipulation: _Only if at all possible without risking my life_ , or worse, risking hers.

“What is it you want, then?” he hoarsely asked. “Compensation for your… time?”

Her eyes flared angrily. “You can forget about keeping _that_ up, Malfoy. We both know better.”

“Then what?” he asked.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said. “Tell me why you’re acting like this.”

He felt as if he’d been punched, and his eyes widened slightly, giving away his surprise. He couldn’t tell her that he was trying to keep her safe, because then she would only scoff at him and tell him just how capable she was. He couldn’t tell her about the extent of the danger, because then she’d demand to know more, and he _really_ couldn’t tell her about his mission. If he told her about that, she would expect him to become a bloody hero, and when he failed to do that, she would have no choice but to go to the Order with her information. He couldn’t tell her anything. He briefly wondered how bad a curse she had attached to this particular clause.

“Well?” she asked impatiently. “I’m waiting.”

“There’s been someone else,” he blurted out. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t actually answering the question either. He suspected that if she’d attached a curse to this clause at all, it would be related to whether he told the truth, not whether he answered the question. He also realized that he needed to tell her so that she would stay away, and doing it under the cover of her own attempt at extracting the truth from him was not a bad plan at all. In fact, it was cruel and devious and she would never forgive him, even if she found out that he was bending the truth.

He felt the panic rising again as it became obvious he wouldn’t be able to turn back from this. Perhaps it really wasn’t necessary to tell her. Perhaps she would accept that he’d just lost interest. He didn’t want to tell her, he didn’t want to see the look in her eyes when truth hit home, didn’t want to truly alienate her.

He didn’t want to eradicate all hope.

She obviously didn’t believe him. “Really?” she asked. “And who might that be?”

His eyes flickered back to Marilyn, who was still watching them, and Hermione followed his gaze.

“ _Her?_ Oh, come on, Malfoy! You tried that one on me before.”

_Yes, isn’t that ironic? I didn’t even want her then, either. I just wanted to provoke that fire and fierceness in you that made you almost devour me whole._

He slowly began untying the scarf that he was wearing under the guise of a slight cold. He noticed the widening in Marilyn’s eyes as she realized what he was up to. She even shook her head at him, motioning for him to stop it, but he ignored her. This was what he had to do.

Removing his scarf, he craned his neck so Hermione would get a better view of the slowly fading bruises covering it and trailing down onto his shoulders. The night he had spent with Marilyn had been far from gentle, and he knew that it showed. It had been a hard and bruising fuck, where he had kept demanding more, and where nothing had been enough.

That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t got off, only that it had hardly been as satisfactory as making love to Hermione was. Not even close. 

He knew that Hermione would recognize the bruises for what they were, having adeptly administered a few to him herself over the months.

“Want to see my back too?” he asked in a distant voice. “I hear it’s quite a sight. And my left arm…”

Hermione had gone completely still. She looked stricken and more than a little nauseous. He could relate. Tears were gathering in her eyes. Fuck, not here. He hurriedly replaced the scarf, blocking the view from her, carefully avoiding looking at both Hermione and Marilyn.

“Y-you claimed you weren’t into her,” Hermione said in a low, hurt, and confused voice. “You said…”

“And it surprises you that I lied, why?” he asked, just wishing to be dead already. “I cheated on Pansy with you, and sleeping with Marilyn hardly qualifies as cheating on anyone.”

_I was unfaithful to you, I know. Please forgive me after I’m dead, even if you don’t know my reasons._

“Do you love her?” she asked. “Is that why?” She would actually forgive the supposed deceit if it was because he had fallen in love? Yes, he supposed she would. She was all honorable like that.

He gave a short, bitter bark of a laughter. “What’s love got to do with fucking?” he asked. “I hope you know better than to mix up those two things. I would hate to get stuck with tender feelings from a Mudblood.”

_Are you mad enough yet? Have I burned the pain out of you? Attempting to cauterize your wounds is the least I can do to stop you from feeling my agony._

She was unable to keep back a sob as tears spilled from her eyes. It broke his heart all over again. Why did he have to be so good at hurting her? He wanted to say something, to comfort her, but he couldn’t. Instead he just stood there, watching, as she turned and ran from him. She was openly crying, not caring how many saw her.

Marilyn started walking towards him, but before she could reach him, someone violently grabbed his arm and flung him around.

“What did you _do_ to her?” Potter furiously screamed at him. “What did you say to her, you miserable sack of filth?” Draco didn’t have time to reply, before he received a punch to the gut.

Welcoming the fight, he tackled the other boy.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione was lying on her bed, staring up at the canopy. It was dark and quiet outside of her own little world. Light hurt her abused eyes, but she wouldn’t put it away. Her gaze flitted back to the floating ball that _he_ had given her.

‘ _It doesn’t mean anything. My parents are rich and I’m well aware how spoiled I am. I have many things I don’t need._ ’

Yes, well, it had meant something to _her_. It had meant that he had listened to her and that he had tried to fulfill one of her wishes. He hadn’t had to do that—she certainly hadn’t expected him to—but he had done it anyway. In spite of his awkward way of handling it, it had been really sweet. At least, she had thought so at the time.

She had no more tears left and numbness had taken over. Ginny had been right. It had taken Hermione far too long to reach this conclusion, but Ginny had actually been right. After everything he had said today, there could be no more doubt.

‘ _He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t care about you. He’s just using you! I can’t just stand by and watch you betray and hurt everyone for someone like him! Either you cut it off or you tell Harry and Ron. You are supposed to be their friend! If you don’t do it, I will!_ ’

It was over. One more tear that she hadn’t thought she had slid down her cheek. 

She should just get over it. She should just shrug this off and go out there and go back to not caring about him. 

It was much easier said than done. 

It certainly didn’t help when she remembered all those times he had seemed like he did care, like he might be falling just a little bit for her.

‘ _What do you think this is? Some epic love story? We fucked, we got caught and now it’s over! Real life caught up, princess._

She had never expected him to agree to having a real out-in-the-open relationship with her; she wasn’t that stupid, but she had hoped for just a little bit more. A little reluctance or regret on his part would have been nice. But, no, he just ruthlessly threw her aside and began sleeping with Shaw instead.

She had a vision of him taking the same pleasure in Shaw as he’d always seemed to take in her, and the pain threatened to crush her, threatened to stop her from breathing. She tried to push it away again.

He had every right to sleep with whoever he wanted, of course, but… why couldn’t he want her instead? She didn’t care about lying to Ginny and her friends, as long as she could just be with him! This should shock her, but it didn’t. She had known for a while that her priorities had changed significantly. It was none of their damn business anyway; it wasn’t as if she was off to join Voldemort. 

Ok, so spending time with him might have changed her a little, loosening her up towards certain behaviors, but her views and loyalties were still the same. She wouldn’t change those for anyone; not even if she hadn’t been a _Mudblood_ , as he so charmingly called her each chance he got.

Why was it that she wasn’t good enough for him anymore? Could it really matter that much that Ginny knew? She hadn’t even told him about Ginny’s threat. Was it because she wasn’t as pretty as Shaw? Perhaps, if she smoothed her hair and wore some makeup… No, she would never be _that_ pretty, but perhaps if she made an effort, she would still appeal.

Or was it that she hadn’t truly satisfied him in bed, the way she had always thought she did? He had seemed to be more bruised after Shaw than he had ever been after their nights together… He could have told her if he was feeling unfulfilled, told her what she needed to do. She didn’t mind being a bit kinky. She didn’t mind not ‘making love’ again. She would do anything.

She knew she was being pathetic. This wasn’t like her at all. She was, however, well aware of the truth hidden in these thoughts and how it should horrify her. But it didn’t.

After all, she’d be stupid not to have noticed that she had fallen irreversibly in love with him, in spite of all his many, many shortcomings. 

Her thoughts flickered back to Ginny shouting at her.

‘ _Just WHAT is making you do this? Do you love him? Snap out of it, Hermione, this isn’t love. If you want love, then take a look at my brother. He’s been mooning over you for ages, trying to catch your attention, going out with that stupid bitch. But he’s not good enough for you, is he? Oh, no, it has to be someone who is mean and hateful and abusive… Don’t you dare tell me that Malfoy is not all of these things!_ ’

These days, sometimes when he said hurtful things to her, she would think that she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, but it was always gone before she could be sure. It was most likely wishful thinking on her part. She should stop all of her wishful thinking and pining and start facing reality.

Fact: He had dumped her.

Fact: He was now always mean and derisive to her, even showing some signs of violence.

Fact: He was sleeping with Shaw.

Fact: He didn’t care the least about her person and he openly made light of her feelings.

‘ _What’s love got to do with fucking? I hope you know better than to mix up those two things. I would hate to get stuck with tender feelings from a Mudblood._

Pain stabbed at her and her dry eyes stung.

Did he _know_ that she had fallen in love with him? Were he and his friends laughing at her in their common room? Had it been some sick joke to see how long he could keep it up? Was he telling everyone what a gullible moron she was?

She couldn’t believe it, she _wouldn’t_! 

‘ _It’s not my fault that you’re so fucking gullible that you’ll jump into bed with anyone who makes moony eyes at you._ ’

Not anyone, just him. It had never been anyone but him. He _knew_ that. He knew that she had been a virgin and that her soft spot was for him alone. He _had_ to know that. But he didn’t care, did he? She hadn’t been the only one for him and he just kept adding to his list, touching other girls, being intimate with them…

And still she couldn’t hate him. She wanted nothing more than for him to say that he was sorry and then kiss her—and she knew that if he did, she would forgive him.

She had never thought she could be this weak and spineless or that she’d settle for anything less than a whole relationship.

She supposed the reason was that there had never _been_ a whole relationship. She had had to ‘settle’, all along. Still, settling with him had given her more pleasure than a full relationship with anyone else she could think of would have.

He wasn’t as bad as everyone, including himself, seemed to think. He had never _really_ treated her badly. He said thoughtless things, yes, but before now it had always been in his eyes and touch that he didn’t mean it. He had often apologized, taken back his words and even tried to be nice to others for her when he didn’t have to. His caresses had always been gentle, except when she didn’t want them to be, and he’d never ever left her wanting in bed. He had truly changed, if only for a while.

It was all so inconsistent.

What was she supposed to believe? His cruel words and actions or the way he had looked at her after they had made love?

She supposed it didn’t really matter; he had tired of her and moved on.

She turned over and buried her head in her pillow, sobbing. There were more tears after all.

*****

Hermione knew she looked dreadful the next day, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, and her nose was swollen. Her skin had a grey tinge, and even her hair seemed more dull than usual. 

Who was she trying to impress, anyway? She supposed that another way of handling this was to try and look her best and maybe flirt a bit, but that only worked if the boy cared. _Her_ boy didn’t.

She obediently went down for breakfast, where she just sat staring at her toast, occasionally poking it. 

She wasn’t surprised that there was gossip; after all, her breakdown had been fairly public. If that wasn’t enough, then Harry and Draco coming to blows over it had surely done the trick. It had landed both of them in detention for weeks and neither had been allowed to go to Madam Pomfrey’s for more than a safety check-up, so today they were both sporting black eyes and split lips. Rumor had it that Draco even had a cracked rib, but it was impossible to know if he was merely exaggerating. He _had_ been known to do that, after all.

This whole thing was supposed to teach them a lesson not to fight, but really it just made it all the worse for Hermione because speculation ran high and she was in the middle of it all. Neither Draco nor Harry had been forthcoming with any story, which made it even worse. Harry, of course, wasn’t completely sure what Draco had done, bless him, only that he’d made her cry. Draco, on the other hand, could have come up with a lie easily. She assumed that this was merely another way of torturing her.

“Hermione?” Ron said, touching her arm.

She looked up at him.

“Weren’t you listening?” he asked.

She slowly shook her head.

He made a face. “I don’t know what Malfoy said to you yesterday, but I don’t get why you care. You should know better than listen to him. He’s always been an evil git; it runs in his family.”

She just looked at him, or rather through him, for a few minutes and then she sighed and said “No, I suppose you wouldn’t understand.”

“Explain it to me then,” he said.

Hermione shook her head again.

“Look, I know you thought he got all nice from your influence, but that’s just not the case. Just goes to show that not everyone can be turned around, doesn’t it? Some people just don’t have it in them. They’re born that way—it’s in their blood!”

Hermione felt her apathy abating, being replaced by fury. “Shut your stupid mouth,” she growled, getting a shocked glance from Ron.

“Hermione, there’s no reason to—“

“Just _how_ is what you just said better than what any nonsense some pure-blood fanatic might spew?” she interrupted, slightly raising her voice and earning a couple more startled looks. “The world would be a much better place and there would _be_ no ‘Dark Lord’ if wizards like you could get it into their thick heads that the only thing worth mentioning about blood is _hemoglobin_!” She stood up and leaned down to shout at a very pale Ron. “Anyone can be whatever the hell they want to be. It just so happens that some people want to be pricks. _Leave blood the hell out of it!_ ”

She turned to leave and noticed that she had gotten quite an audience. Cold grey eyes in a pale, battered face were watching her from the Slytherin table with seemingly little interest, and beside him Shaw had a knowing, pitying look.

_She knows? He told her of all people?_

Her heart was threatening to beat through her chest and she felt as if she was going to be sick. This couldn’t be happening! Shaw couldn’t be aware that she had had something with Draco. The humiliation was complete.

She rushed from the room.

*****

Hermione couldn’t sleep. Every time she tried, every time she closed her eyes, she had only one thing on her mind. This was eating her up. She swore to herself that she would never ever allow anyone else to affect her like this, because it was pure torture. She deliberately ignored the fact that she would not change a thing even if she got the chance.

Sighing, she got out of bed and pulled on her robes. Lavender was snoring and it was annoying her to distraction, so she was going to just go down to the common room.

When she got there, however, it was already occupied by a fifth-year couple, heavily snogging. Hermione’s first thought was to act the prefect and break it up, but then she realized that it would be hypocritical of her and besides, she was more jealous than outraged.

She tapped her head with her wand, rendering herself invisible, and snuck past the couple, who probably wouldn’t have noticed it if she had stomped over them while singing the school song at the top of her lungs. The painting swung closed behind her and she just kept on walking.

How many times had she snuck out? How many times had she pretended to go to bed, only to sneak eight floors down to indulge in forbidden fruit? She briefly wondered if they would have even been attracted to each other if it hadn’t been wrong and exciting. 

While she would acknowledge the edge it might have given their sex at times, she was pretty convinced that she would have been attracted to him regardless. Goodness, on the rare occasions when he had genuinely smiled at her, she would have followed him to hell and back. Imagine him actually being a nice, normal person. They might even have been able to really be together…

To her great shock, she had reached the dungeons and had, in fact, progressed deeply into them. _Habit_. She turned to go back up and then froze at the sound of a voice. _His_ voice. No, it couldn’t be. She edged closer to the classroom where the voice was coming from, unable to make out the low answer that was coming from a female. Finally, she reached the door and she peeked in, seeing Draco and Shaw in what appeared to be a heated argument. A lover’s spat?

 _What a pity_ , she thought gleefully.

“Damn it, Marilyn!” he ground out. “I told you to let it go, it’s none of your fucking business!”

“You _made_ it my business when you involved me in it!” she shot back. “What am I supposed to tell her if she confronts me about it?”

_If who confronts you about what? What’s going on?_

“She won’t! And _if_ she does, why don’t you just tell her the truth?”

“The truth, Draco?” Shaw asked haughtily. “You mean, how you were drunk and didn’t want to and then the next day you felt so bad that you were damn near blub—“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” he shouted, lifting his hand as if to slap her.

Hermione gasped.

His head whipped to the side and he stared intensely at where Hermione was standing.

_Oh, crud._

Hermione knew that if she moved he might see her, but at the same time, he would almost definitely reveal her presence if she remained where she was. Thankful for the darkness of the dungeon, she slowly slid to the side, out the corridor and a few steps along it.

He came charging through the door, right where she’d been standing a few seconds earlier, and she froze in her tracks. He stopped up, as if listening intently.

“You’re being paranoid, Draco,” Shaw said, having followed. “Nobody’s here.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding unconvinced and scanning the area. He was standing too close. Hermione was sure that he should be able to hear her breathing or sense her body heat. “But this conversation is over,” he continued. “Never mention it again. If anyone hears, it was all for nothing!” He stalked off and Shaw silently followed.

Hermione was afraid to move for several minutes and then she sprinted out of the dungeons. What secret was it that Draco was so eager to keep?

*****

Hermione knew better than to approach Draco in the weeks after he had hurled the fact that he was sleeping with Shaw at her. He had clearly stated what he wanted, and even though she might _wish_ that things were different, she had more self-respect than to throw herself at someone who had chosen to be involved with someone else.

She ignored the voice telling her that he had been involved with Pansy Parkinson for most of the time they had been sleeping together. After all, he hadn’t _really_ been involved with her; that had all been for show… right?

No point in going there. No point in dwelling on useless things.

Harry’s bruises and cuts faded and disappeared, as did Draco’s. Draco kept moving carefully for a long time, however, and wincing even when he couldn’t even suspect that someone was watching, which did lend some probability to the story that he had hurt his rib. Good! Let him feel some pain for once! Strangely enough, he wasn’t raising hell about it this time, but then again—his Daddy was in Azkaban where he belonged, and so could hardly come to his aid.

The weather gradually improved while spring continued. April had quickly come and gone, and then it was May. Would the school year really be over soon? The thought made Hermione happy and relieved, but in another way it made her anxious and sad. She only had one more year left at Hogwarts; soon she had to go out into the real world, and that was a scary thought. 

Almost eight months had passed since her first encounter with Draco. Where _did_ the time go? And why did she even keep track of it? There was no use in thinking about it, time would keep passing and one morning she’d wake up and this would all be in a distant past. The thought was depressing.

*****

“HE KILLED HIM!” Myrtle shouted at Hermione. “YOUR POTTER IS A MURDERER!”

Hermione nearly had a heart attack before realizing that this was just another one of Myrtle’s antics. Then she got annoyed.

She was at a girls’ bathroom on the fifth floor, where she had been freshening up before dinner, when suddenly the screeching ghost had emerged from one of the cisterns, throwing her mad accusations around.

“Who did Harry supposedly kill?” she asked irritably.

“Draco Malfoy!” Myrtle said, breaking into sobs. “He wasn’t doing anything, we were just talking—he’s really a nice and sensitive boy—and then Potter barged in and killed him! Like this!” She did a wild slashing motion.

Hermione’s heart stopped and her eyes bulged. “M-Malfoy’s dead?” she whispered.

Myrtle nodded dramatically and Hermione’s world started spinning.

_He can’t be dead. Why would Harry kill him? He can’t be dead. I love him. He can be as mean as he wants to be, as long as he’s not dead!_

Tears were threatening to take over, but she needed more information.

“W-why did Harry do this? Are you _sure_ that Dra-I mean, Malfoy’s dead?”

“Harry Potter is a mean boy! _He_ doesn’t care how others feel. I bet he did it just out of spite! And Malfoy was sliced right up, there was blood everywhere when Professor Snape came and closed him up and took him to the hospital wing!” The ghost started wailing again.

Something registered with Hermione. “He was healed and taken to the hospital wing?” she asked. “Then he’s _not_ dead?”

“Well,” Myrtle said, sniffing and looking thoughtful. “I suppose there’s a chance that he might not be… yet…”

“You idiot of an excuse for a ghost!” Hermione hissed, feeling relieved and furious at the same time. “Be glad that you’re already dead or _I_ would kill _you_!”

Myrtle shrieked with outrage, and, with a plop, she disappeared down the cistern she had come from.

Hermione was battling to get her feelings under control. Draco was not dead. That simple fact now had her feeling what almost felt like euphoria, but Harry sure had some explaining to do!

*****

Hermione was sitting in the common room, playing with her light. It stayed hovering wherever you put it and it was sort of amusing to just poke it around. Not that she felt very amused right now. She supposed Harry might have had his reasons for using the unknown spell on Draco, but that simply wasn’t good enough. Ginny was, of course, being a bitch about the whole thing and defending her boyfriend. It probably didn’t help that she was still sore about catching Hermione kissing Draco. Hermione didn’t think that either of them was being fair in vilifying Draco that much, but she could hardly say anything about the matter without risking that Ginny would tell Harry everything.

She wouldn’t risk it. Not because she didn’t want them to know—sometimes, she thought it would be easier if they did—but because Draco had been all but begging her never to tell anyone.

‘ _My family is in deep with the Dark Lord. I could get us all killed for wanting you, and yet I still do, and you call it a chore? This is a real threat, Hermione. I can’t just ignore it. It won’t just go away. Nobody can know, Hermione. Nobody._ ’

Nobody _would_ know, not from her. She could do that much for him.

“Hey,” Ron said, cautiously approaching her. He had been walking on eggshells around her since she had blown up at him even though it had been weeks. She didn’t hold any grudges against him, though, not really. He hadn’t meant anything by his unfortunate choice of words.

“Hey,” she said, poking the light again, dimly wondering if it would just go out one day, since there was no way of actually turning it off.

“Whoa!” Ron said, noticing her toy. “Where did you get that?”

Hermione looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Aren’t they quite commonplace?”

“Well, yeah,” Ron replied. “If you can afford them. They’re, like, a hundred galleons if you’re lucky. We don’t have one. Mum says wandlight does just fine. So where did you get yours?”

Hermione stared at him for a second. “Uh, my Mum and Dad sent it,” she mumbled. It figured. The spoiled little rich brat would just happen to have an extra hundred-galleon light lying around.

And he hadn’t even told her its worth to gain an advantage.

*****

Hermione clutched the scrolls to her chest and took a deep breath. As far as peace offerings went, this was pretty lame, but it was all she knew how to give. She had stayed up all night the past two nights, assembling essays and copying notes for his benefit. It hadn’t been hard to figure out how far Draco had fallen behind in his classes. In fact, it appeared that he had been putting in minimal effort since she stopped helping him. How typical of him. Didn’t he realize that he might need it later in life?

Still, she was going to bail him out because one of her best friends had literally almost killed him from sheer stupidity.

She was hesitating outside of the room she knew he was in. Chances were pretty good that he would be cruel to her and maybe even reject her work. She didn’t know how well she could handle that.

_You’re a Gryffindor; find your bloody courage!_

Breathing deeply again, she pushed the door open and immediately wished that she hadn’t.

Inside was an, even for him, very pale, but obviously not dead, Draco, lying in a bed. There was a fading red mark on his cheek and a similar red mark disappearing beneath his neckline. The fact that the marks were even still there was telling of the severity of the wounds.

But this was not what had her regret.

Next to him was Shaw sitting on a chair. They looked as if they had been interrupted in the middle of an important conversation, her chair was pushed up, and she was leaning in over him. Draco had turned his head, looking at Hermione with a clear look of surprise, and Shaw was frowning disapprovingly at her.

Hermione had really not been pining for another chance to see Draco together with his new girlfriend.

She went over and dumped the scrolls on his bed.

“H-he didn’t mean to do it,” she mumbled, not quite looking at him. “It was an accident. He didn’t know what the spell did.” She turned and hurried away again, vaguely aware that they hadn’t said a word.

*****

Fortunately, it seemed that Draco would have no permanent injury, and he was up and about again in a few days’ time. He didn’t in any way mention Hermione’s gesture, and she didn’t know how to feel about that. In the end, she settled for relieved, as he at least didn’t mock her for trying to right Harry’s wrong. It was nothing more than she would have done for anyone else.

_Right, you would have done Crabbe’s homework, for sure._

Ok, maybe not _anyone_ else, but most people. At least most people who were Draco Malfoy.

She was now officially a dimwit.

Classes were the worst. She had no way of always avoiding looking at him for the duration. Potions was especially gruesome. Hermione did her best to stay focused on her cauldron, but since this was a practical class, it was harder to not occasionally look up or look over at the others. At least in Arithmancy she could remain focused on her books and notes, Professor Vector, and the blackboard.

“All right then, class,” Professor Slughorn said in one of those dreadful Potions classes, not long after the incident. “You will be working in pairs on a project for the rest of the year.”

_Grand, I’ll be stuck with Ernie Macmillan._

True enough, Ron and Harry seemed to be huddling closer together. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ernie, who nodded. Well, at least _he_ took his work seriously.

“Your partner may not be one from your own House,” Slughorn continued.

Hermione smirked as a look of shock and panic went across her friends’ faces.

 _Good one, Slughorn_ , she thought approvingly. _Think outside the box_.

She looked around her. Draco had caught the eye of a Ravenclaw girl, who reluctantly nodded in response. Zabini openly sneered at Slughorn, and Nott looked positively bewildered. Finally everyone seemed to have found a partner—except Ron and Harry.

“No, no, this won’t do at all,” Slughorn sighed when he realized that things hadn’t quite worked out. “Robert and Ernie team up, Harry and… who do we team you up with, then?” he scanned the faces. 

There were sniggers at Slughorn’s repeated inability to get Ron’s name right. Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, sometimes people could be so childish.

She put up her hand. “Sir? Sir, Ernie and I already had a cross-house team,” she pointed out. She was slightly less enthusiastic about this idea now that she didn’t know who she might end up with.

“Ahh, yes, but certainly Rudolpho needs someone to keep him rule-bound more than you do, yes?”

This mollified her a bit and made the Slytherin table erupt in peals of laughter. Ron didn’t look too pleased, but what did he expect? Slughorn had caught him yesterday, playing with some toy from the _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_ that he had confiscated from some other student. Hermione wholeheartedly agreed that he needed to be kept in line.

“Ahh, what about the lovely Lisa? Yes, she’s done well this year and maybe she can help you remember your talent again,” Slughorn said, winking at Harry, whose ‘talent’ was hidden deep in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione blinked. Lisa? Wasn’t that… She turned and only had to glance at Draco blanching to realize that indeed it was. Lisa Turpin was the girl he had teamed up with. Trust him to seek out someone good to do all the work for him. Right now he was glaring at the poor girl as if she had deliberately switched to Harry.

“That leaves you, Hermione, and who? Ah…” Slughorn’s voice faltered a little. “Draco.”

“No!” Draco exclaimed. “I don’t want to team up with that… her! Give me someone—anyone—else.”

At this, Zabini coughed, looking as if he’d swallowed something the wrong way, while Slughorn frowned. “That is no way to respond to being teamed up with a perfectly responsible and intelligent girl who, I believe, has already been tutoring you, yes? You could learn a great deal from her, young man! Haven’t you already?”

Draco looked positively desperate. “But I hate her!”

Zabini was now openly sniggering, having the time of his life, while Hermione’s back had stiffened, her face had flushed, and she knew her eyes were too bright. She couldn’t help but being hurt and humiliated by this exchange. She didn’t want to team up with Draco either; at this moment she never wanted to lay eyes on him again. Being talked about like this was simply too much. She wished Slughorn wouldn’t force them to work together.

Harry leaned in and whispered. “Don’t worry about it, Hermione. You know that’s just how he is.” When she didn’t reply, he added “Want me to beat him up again?” which brought a small smile from her, but she was still considering whether dropping Potions might not just be worth it.

The professor now looked really angry, his face red, bordering on purple. It was the first time anyone had seen him in this state. “Twenty points from Slytherin!” he barked. “You _will_ team up with Hermione Granger. You _will_ do your part. And you _will_ do _well_ at it or, so help me, I will make sure that you _never_ make your NEWT next year in this class! Am I making myself clear?”

A silence fell over the room before Draco weakly said “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Slughorn said, suddenly beaming again and beginning to hand out their assignments. “Each assignment is unique. You will make everything from scratch, following these directions, and in one month you should have something to show for it. Have fun!”

_Not bloody likely._

Harry left to go to join Turpin at her table and Ron and Ernie bent over their assignment, studying it. Hermione stared at the piece of parchment with their directions. _Their_ directions. Fortunately, most recipes required a whole lot of waiting, and they didn’t have to be near each other for that.

She began reading. It didn’t seem very complicated, it was mostly about timing. A few minutes later, Draco walked over and leaned against the table, not looking at her or the instructions. She ignored him while she finished reading.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” he asked, still not looking her way.

Merlin, was he pouting? What a brat.

“Get your cloak,” she said. “We’re going out.” She was glad that she had spent the break outside in the nice weather and so had her outerwear with her.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’d know if you’d bothered to read the assignment,” she bit out and began walking, not bothering to make sure that he kept up.

He caught up with her a few minutes later, clasping his cloak.

“You know,” he said. “You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

Hermione clenched her jaw painfully to refrain from replying to that.

“So where _are_ we going?” he asked again.

“To the gardens,” she forced out. “It has to be fresh, so we’re cutting the ingredients ourselves.”

He frowned. “Shouldn’t that be a part of Herbology instead?” Neither of them were taking Herbology this year, as he well knew.

“Well, funny enough, Herbology and Potions are connected.”

“Still with the bitching,” he said.

Hermione’s hands were now tight fists, her nails digging into her palms.

_Just ignore him. He’s only trying to provoke you._

Madam Sprout had been expecting them and in short order they were left on their own to dig up stuff with admonitions to not take more than they needed or step on the sprigs. Hermione went to work, but Draco only stood around with a look of distaste on his face.

“You know,” she said, wiping her brow, well aware that she would get dirty smudges on her face. “You’d be out of here faster if you actually _helped_.”

He carefully rearranged his robes, so he wouldn’t get dirt on them, while making his way through the garden to where she was standing.

“Don’t we have _people_ for this? Like that enormously stupid Longbottom…”

Hermione straightened. “You noticed that Neville is good with plants?”

Draco frowned. “No… But there you go!”

Hermione made a derisive sound and threw him the gloves, not caring that dirt spattered onto his robes. “You get the Devil’s Snare!”

He blanched. “We need bits from a Devil’s Snare?”

“And then the mandrake root.”

“You’re joking!”

Hermione considered for a moment but then sighed. No, they really didn’t need either of those troublesome and deadly plants. It would have been fun to watch him struggle, though. “I suppose. But we _do_ need wolfsbane.”

He shot her a very dark look before he obliged. Hermione couldn’t help but smirk. Lamentably, however, he seemed to handle the poisonous plant well enough to not die or even need to go to the hospital wing… again. 

Finally they had what they needed and were making their way back.

“How come nobody else is out here?” Draco asked. “We can’t be the only pair out of six to need fresh plants.”

“I suppose they could start out with preparing dried or conserved things,” Hermione said, shrugging.

“And why couldn’t we?”

_Because I said so, and you didn’t even bother to read the bloody assignment?_

“We needed this first. We’ll have to hurry if we want to get it all chopped and sliced in class.”

He didn’t reply but merely sped up his pace. It seemed he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough. Well, fine, right back at him. Still, there were some details they needed to work out.

“We need to make a plan,” she said. He didn’t reply. “The most important thing is the full moon. If I remember correctly, that will be on the twenty-second. That is _this_ Thursday, so you will need to meet me out here at midnight.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “ _What?_ ”

“I said—”

“I heard you the first time,” he rudely interrupted. “What the hell are you playing at?”

“Homework,” she gritted out. “And guess what? You’ll have to meet me at least once before that to get everything else ready in time.”

He glared at her as if she was making all this up just to be alone with him and Hermione lost it. She yanked the instructions out of her bag and shoved them at him so hard that she sent him stumbling a step back.

“READ THE DAMN ASSIGNMENT!!!” she shouted, before she stalked off.


	14. Chapter 14

Draco looked longingly after the brunette. He knew it was better that she was angry than hurting, but she was so damn sexy when her passions were rising.

He sighed and looked at the piece of parchment labeled ‘ _Group 4: Hate Potion. An exercise in timing and teamwork_ ’—now, wasn’t that ironic? He slowly and carefully read the instructions that Hermione had so violently thrust upon him. Then he read them again.

It really could be worse.

But this was bad enough.

He _really_ didn’t want to be out alone with her at night. She had looked so adorable, all mussed and with dirt on her face, that he had hardly been able to keep his distance in the daylight—and that was _before_ her outburst. He knew he was hopelessly warped to be turned on by her anger, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The thought of what would happen to his resolve when they were alone under a full moon, however, was frightening.

He hadn’t put them both through this much just to give up _now_ ; he had to find a way around this.

She didn’t hate him the way she should. She had even tried to make up for Scarface’s attempt at killing him, instead of being sorry that the attempt had failed. Some days Draco was almost sorry himself that he hadn’t just died, why couldn’t she be?

_She’s too bloody noble._

He was worried about her safety, but even if he hadn’t been… even if he had wanted to see the look of disgust and loathing in Hermione’s eyes, when she found out who he really was… He couldn’t risk his family, just because he had fallen in love with some girl. People fell in and out of love all the time. He just had to wait it out, was all. She would get over it soon enough and move on. Hopefully, so would he. 

He just had to keep a distance between them until that happened.

He walked back to the classroom, where Hermione was attacking a root with a vengeance. Draco winced a little. If she wasn’t careful, she’d let most of it go to waste, and they’d have to go out for more. She looked positively gorgeous when she was angry, though…

He definitely had to drop that line of thinking.

“What do you say, we divide some of these tasks?” he asked hopefully.

“Well, that _was_ the general plan,” she said, not looking up from her mauling. Draco itched to take the knife away from her, but he was well aware where it might end up, then. She might not hate him, but she did have a temper.

“You might want to let up on that,” he suggested, earning a scathing look from her. Her cheeks were red, her eyes were blazing, and she still had a streak of dirt on her forehead. He looked away, before his attraction showed. “Fine, have it your way,” he said on an exaggerated sigh, “but I’m not going back out for more, when you can’t use what you’ve got.”

That worked to some extent, she started cutting more carefully.

“What I meant before was,” he continued, “we don’t both need to be going out for things, at the same time. Why don’t I prepare everything else, and, then, _you_ can go get the bearsfoot—”

Hermione threw down her knife and effectively cut him off. What now? He eyed her warily.

“So you’re suggesting,” she hissed menacingly, placing her hands on the table, “that I go out alone in the middle of the night, in _these_ times, because you’re too wimpy to do a task with me that will take less than an hour in total?”

No, actually, he had tried offering her the easiest task, so she would accept, and he wouldn’t have to spend any more time near her than he had to.

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me wi—”

“ _Don’t_ push me!”

He sighed again, looking away, as his heart was pounding. For fuck’s sake, when would he get past this? “Fine, we’ll switch. You slice and dice; I go out.”

She resumed her butchering of the ingredients. “As much as I’d love not having to lay my eyes on you again…” He was not bothered by this statement, not at all. “I already asked about getting permits to go out, and we’re only allowed out that late in pairs—and before you ask—yes, _these_ pairs. So, you go ahead and do all the other work alone if you want, but you’re coming out to harvest with me Thursday!”

“Fine,” he said again. “But please start paying attention to your chopping; I’d like to pass this class.” He then took out his own knife and smugly did a much better job of it. She might be smarter than him, but she allowed emotions to interfere with her results.

He didn’t.

*****

Draco was in a foul mood when class was finally over and Hermione let him go at last. She could be a right shrew when it came to schoolwork, and he hadn’t been able to just blow her off with Slughorn keeping an eye on him. How was he supposed to keep this up? He wasn’t very good at this whole ‘self-sacrifice’ thing. He would much rather leave that stuff to Saint Potter.

He entered the common room, and Zabini began laughing. Draco didn’t quite get it, but he was certain it had something to do with having to team up with Hermione. He glowered at him. The bugger needed a good thrashing.

“I didn’t know just how fond you were of _mud_ ,” Zabini sniggered, gesturing at Draco’s boots.

Draco frowned and looked down. Indeed, his footwear had cakes of dirt on it. Disgusted, he took out his wand and scourgified them, before plopping down in a chair across from Zabini. Pansy was there, actually sitting next to Zabini. There was still a good foot between them, but it was a step up for those two, he supposed. He didn’t understand them; nothing was standing in _their_ way.

That was another thing. While Draco had been in the hospital wing, Shaw had finally managed to dump Zabini. She wasn’t over it, but as far as Draco could tell, she was rapidly making her way through the male population of the school to make up for it. He really had to admire Shaw’s ability to keep her affairs quiet. He supposed that most boys agreed to keep it quiet, in the hope that they’d get another taste. After all, she wasn’t bad at it, at all. She just wasn’t…

_Hermione._

Draco’s mood got even worse.

“I don’t get the problem,” Pansy said, frowning at Draco. “You already let her tutor you for most of the year. Why is it suddenly a big deal?”

So Zabini had been filling her in, and obviously enjoying it, too!

“Because I can’t stand being around her and I thought I wouldn’t have to anymore!” Draco angrily replied. “And why even _have_ houses, if they’re going to insist that we mix with each other? That doesn’t make any sense!”

He really wished that his mother would have allowed him to attend Durmstrang. He had it on good authority that they didn’t even accepted Muggle-born there. Imagine, he could have been far away; he could have never met Dumbledore, Potter or Hermione…

 _Never have met Hermione._ The thought tied his guts in a knot. _Never have known her kisses…_

No, he had to let this go. If he hadn’t met her, then he wouldn’t have known what he was missing. If he had gone to Durmstrang, there would probably have been a nice pure-blood girl in his life.

_Yes, like Pansy._

No, not every pureblood was like Pansy. He could have met someone better.

_Or maybe you would never really have fallen in love. Maybe you would have settled, like you did before._

A life without love? The thought made him sick. He had to believe that there could be someone else for him, if he survived this. The thought, of never experiencing these feelings again, was devastating.

“Draco?” Pansy asked, pulling him from his brooding thoughts. “Aren’t you listening?”

No, he really wasn’t.

*****

Thursday came much too fast for Draco’s peace of mind. Of course Hermione didn’t allow him to prepare everything by himself. The little busybody had to have a hand in everything; she couldn’t just trust him to get it right. So, as his way of petty revenge, he refused to do anything before on the day of the full moon, ‘since he already would have to look at her Mudblood face all night, anyway’. 

He could tell that it annoyed her immensely, seeing as she loved to have everything worked out in advance, but rather than doing the work alone, she eventually agreed. Was she getting tired of doing his work for him, then? It didn’t matter. As long as he could get her to stay mad at him there really was no danger, and he actually got some sort of twisted pleasure out of being around her.

Everything was coming to an end and soon he would probably never see her again.

“Watch how you’re handling that!” she snapped, as they were cutting up various disgusting animal bits on the night in question. 

This part of Potions he could really live without.

“Keep your knickers on, Granger,” he lazily replied, having deliberately lighted her fuse by feinting with his knife. “I’m not completely inept.” He cut up the boomslang skin, feeling glad that at least he wasn’t the one squishing leeches. “I don’t get why anybody would go through this much trouble just to hate somebody.”

That was an outright lie. He understood perfectly why someone might try to reverse their feelings, and he even considered sampling it, if it turned out all right. The look Hermione shot him suggested that she didn’t need a potion, but he knew better. She didn’t hate him, no matter how much she should. Sometimes he thought she simply lacked the ability.

“I suppose it’s like with the love potion, isn’t it?” she said, concentrating on her squishing.

“Well, no,” he said. “I mean, I _understand_ the love potion.”

She looked up at him, startled. “You do?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “It saves you a lot of trouble getting a girl into bed, doesn’t it? And I bet some people even take it themselves so they won’t mind who they’re getting laid by so much.” It was meant as a veiled and completely untrue hint that he might have done just that, so he added a smirk and raised an eyebrow at her.

She made a disgusted face at him. “I should have known you would be completely unaffected by morals or standards,” she growled.

“If you know another use for love potion, then let me hear it,” he invited.

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, looking thoughtful. She clearly had never thought about the actual morally superior uses one could have for making someone into an obsessive idiot.

“I’ve never taken it, so I wouldn’t know the benefits,” she said, scowling as he grinned. “But I suppose that if someone were as sick as you, they might indeed get a kick out of using it to take advantage of some poor girl, or for sex games…”

“In other words, you would?” he asked.

She shot him a contemptuous look. “ _However_ ,” she said. “I could probably think of some scenarios where it would be beneficial to have someone think better of you.”

“Like, if you want to sleep with them?” he mocked.

“Like, if they wanted to get something done!” she shot back, motioning at his snakeskin, which was still only half-sliced.

“You’d feed me love potion?” he asked incredulously. “I hate to tell you this, Granger, but that would hardly get your homework done.”

“ _Our_ homework. And why is that, then?” she asked.

“Because, it creates an obsession with the other person and an inability to see reason to the exclusion of all else.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I’d be too busy trying to get into your aforementioned knickers.”

Now, if that wasn’t adequately describing the way their relationship had worked, he didn’t know what was. She glared at him, and he didn’t flinch.

“Fine,” she finally said. “Then it would just have to be poison.”

That absurd statement took him by surprise, and he actually let out a short laugh, before he could stop himself.

_Careful, now. You don’t want to get too friendly._

He schooled his features and continued his work.

“I don’t know _why_ you think you have to do that,” Hermione continued. “It just seems so contrived.”

“What does?”

She made a vague gesture with her hand. “Your whole mission to demean me. I get it: You don’t like being around me now that you’re with Shaw. Let it go already. Big deal, if she feels threatened; nobody told you to tell her. In fact, I was of the impression that nobody could know. But maybe that only counted for _my_ friends?”

Draco stared at her, as she continued with her things. She was looking strangely calm, all signs of her anger gone. Instead she was resigned and being effectiveness incarnate.

_She hasn’t got a clue._

_That’s what you wanted._

_Yes, but it still bothers me that she’ll never know._

_There is_ one _way…_

_It’s too risky._

_It’s much safer than the current state of affairs._

_How can you even_ think _it’s safe?_

_Ok, so it comes at a price, but isn’t that price much smaller than your family’s life? Her life?_

_She would try to make me turn against Him if I told her what was going on; she wouldn’t understand._

_She wouldn’t try for long…_

_She would hate me._

_Not for long…_

_We could still never be together._

_No. But you might have more to show for it._

_What? Her turning me horribly down, and rightfully so after everything I’ve done to her?_

_Then you’d know, wouldn’t you?_

“Malfoy? Why are you staring at me like that?” Hermione demanded.

Draco shook his head. It was all so tempting and confusing. No, he couldn’t do it.   
“Nothing,” he said. “It just really threw me that you would think that insulting you isn’t great fun in itself.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him for the time being. Draco let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d held in. He really needed for tonight to be over.

*****

Getting the herb had not been as bad as he’d feared. The moon was bright in the sky, flooding them with cold light, removing some of the intimacy of the darkness. Fortunately, she seemed to want it over with as well. There was only one incident, where his hand accidentally brushed hers. She had looked up at him questioningly, the pale light making her look almost eerie, and he burned to just bend down and kiss her, to make her his again. 

Instead, he had jerked his gaze from hers, and had begun walking back. 

He really hated doing the right thing.

Draco was wishing that he had had the foresight to have many shorter meetings, instead of one long session. Unfortunately, this had been his own doing, so he could hardly complain without rousing her suspicions. It would take well into the night, but they’d essentially be done after that, and in a way that was a relief too.

He managed to keep his distance for the next couple of hours. They had been unable to actually start brewing the potion before they had gotten the bearsfoot. Of course, they were alone in the Potions classroom; nobody else was dumb enough to do all the work tonight. He hadn’t considered that.

Hermione had pulled her hair back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face, but after hours of concentration and scratching her head, wisps of hair had come free and were occasionally getting in her eyes. She seemed unaware of her mussed appearance, but Draco was mesmerized, and his hands itched to smooth the hair back. 

He tried to avoid looking at her.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed.

Draco looked up from staring hard at the potion, having done his best to think about nothing but the assignment.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not doing anything wrong!”

“No,” she said, “but we forgot one thing!”

“No, we didn’t!” he said, grabbing the instructions from her and frowning as he realized, they had, indeed, managed to miss one item. Unicorn hair, actually. Why the hell did this potion need Unicorn parts, anyway? It was mostly filled with disgusting or poisonous things.

He scowled at Hermione. “How could you let this happen?”

“Me?” she almost shrieked. “You’re in this team too!”

“Yes, but I’m not the nutty know-it-all, am I?” he asked. “What now?”

“There’s still time,” Hermione said, rushing into the storage.

Draco certainly hoped so; he didn’t fancy failing after suffering all day.

“ _DAMN!_ ”

Uh-oh, Hermione hardly had any outbursts unrelated to him. He looked uneasily at her, as she came back.

“There is none,” she said. “It’s all gone.” She began pulling on her cloak.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“ _We_ are going to wake up Hagrid,” she said. “I know he must have some.”

“Why would he help us?” Draco asked.

Hermione shot him a contemptuous glance. “He’s my friend. He’ll help me.”

Oh, right. She actually liked the oaf. Draco glanced at the potion that was still simmering.

“If it doesn’t burn or get too cold we’ll still have time,” Hermione said. “Come on!”

Reluctantly, he followed her.

*****

Hermione knocked on the door a little harder this time.

“Give it up, Granger,” Draco said. “He’s not going to open up. Either he’s not home, or he sleeps like the dead.”

“But he _has_ to,” Hermione said. “We need that hair!”

Draco shrugged. “Well, we won’t get it, will we? I say it’s time we just call it a learning experience and give it up.”

“Yes, you would think like that, wouldn’t you?” Hermione said resentfully. “Forget it. I’m getting it myself.” She stomped off towards the Forbidden Forest.

_What?_

“You can’t go in there!” Draco said, bewildered by her resolve. 

This was just a stupid Potions project, why was it so important to her? Professor Slughorn would accept that they had exhausted all possibilities. He might berate them for forgetting an ingredient in the first place, but nothing serious would happen. They wouldn’t really fail. They had worked together and everything.

She just kept on going. 

“Granger?” he asked a bit louder. No response. “Hermione!” he shouted, as she disappeared into the darkness. Nothing.

_Shit._

He hurried after her.

“Just _how_ do you plan on getting it?” he asked, when he finally caught up with her. “You going to hunt a Unicorn down and yank a hair from its tail?” He cautiously looked around him. Who knew _what_ things were waiting to eat them? He really should just leave her to it.

_Yeah. Right. I could let her walk in here alone._

Maybe he could forcibly haul her back. He glanced at her. No… it looked, as if he tried, he might find himself less of a man. He really was too attached to his man-parts to risk it.

“I heard something about the hair getting caught in bushes and such…” Hermione mumbled, looking around her.

“How far are you going to go in?” Draco asked, flinching at a sudden sound.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Hermione drily replied, looking utterly unaffected. Stupid Gryffindors with their recklessness. Since when did she condone breaking the rules, anyway?

“And how would it look for me if I left, and you got eaten?”

She sniffed. “I won’t get eaten. I never have yet.”

“Well, Granger, I hardly think you will live to tell the tale after it _does_ happen.”

“Wouldn’t that suit you just fine?” she asked bitterly.

Draco was getting annoyed. She had no right to think that he wanted her dead. He was here with her, wasn’t he? He didn’t particularly want to be, but he wasn’t turning back. He was aware that the credit he deserved was limited, but couldn’t she just give him _that_ much?

“It wouldn’t suit me at all!” he growled, before he thought better of it.

She gave him a startled look. “I thought you were all for the ‘Mudblood’ eradi—“

“First of all,” he interrupted, stopping up. “I’m just against Mudbloods mixing with real wizards and witches. I don’t mind if they live out their natural life, as long as they do it somewhere _else_. Second of all, I told you that I wouldn’t cheer at your funeral, didn’t I?” He began walking again.

She actually stomped her foot at him. “You _can’t_ do that! You _can’t_ claim there’s a line between Muggle-born and wizard-born that decides everything. _YOU_ called me a competent witch, are you taking that back now, too?” She glared at him but then made a dismissive hand-gesture. “No, forget that. It doesn’t matter if you are, because I _am_ a witch!”

Draco sighed. “You can’t be sure that one of your grandparents wasn’t a squib, Her—Granger.” She didn’t seem to notice his slip-up but merely glared at him again. “Usually they leave the wizarding world and go to live as Muggles. True, you’d only actually be, like, one fourth or one eighth witch, but it would usually be enough to get you the label of half—”

“And what if I said I’m _completely_ sure that my grandparents are Muggles?”

“I would have a hard time believing you, and then I’d question your great-grandparents.”

“You just can’t deal with the fact that you slept with a Muggle-born, can you?” she asked incredulously. “If ever there was one, _I am it!_ ”

What was he supposed to respond to that? _I’m afraid that you’re right, because then everything I have ever believed in will disappear, and I will be left with nothing_? No, that wouldn’t do. And this conversation was getting too personal.

“Whatever, Granger,” he said, faking boredom with the subject. “What about we get this over with?”

She huffed and stomped deeper into the forest. He really wasn’t liking this.

“Look, Granger,” he said, eyeing the dark nervously. “I’ll tell Slughorn that it was my fault that we didn’t get it, if you’ll just agree to get out of here.”

“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” she mocked him. “Afraid of the dark?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m afraid of what’s _in_ the dark!”

She stopped dead in her tracks. He stopped with her and turned to see what had her attention, and saw the positively ugliest thing he had ever laid his eyes on. It was covered in reddish brown hair and had five club-footed legs and a low-slung body. Draco’s first thought was that it looked rather silly, but then he noticed the intensity of the way it was staring at Hermione.

_It’s going to attack her!_

Hermione had gone pale and was slowly walking backwards. The beast opened its mouth and showed off rows of needle-sharp teeth, making an awful sound, before crouching as if to jump.

The sensible thing would have been to pull out his wand and hurl a hex at it. Draco didn’t think that far. He grabbed Hermione’s arm and pushed her behind him. She was too shocked by everything to object. 

He went into a staring match with the beast, and then he felt it: The thing that up until now had only given him troubles and grief. The thing that made him more powerful than any one beast in this forest. His eyes darkened, and he smirked, as the beast backed down and lumbered off.

“Is it gone?” Hermione weakly asked behind him. “H-how did you do that?”

“It’s more afraid of us than we are of it,” he said, unconsciously rubbing his arm. “Luckily for us, it seems to respond to lack of fear.”

It wasn’t true. He had been afraid. He had actually been more afraid than ever before in his life. He had been afraid that it would attack him, but he’d been terrified that it would attack her, and that he would have to stand there and not be able to do anything about it.

She shook her head. “No, I’m quite sure that was a Quintaped. It eats people. It doesn’t care if you’re scared or not.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Why did you get between it and me? It could have attacked you instead.”

Draco turned to her and grabbed her arms hard. He was angrier at her than he had ever been before.

 _YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED_ , he wanted to shout. _THIS IS THE STUPIDEST THING YOU HAVE EVER DONE! WHAT DID YOU THINK I WOULD DO? JUST STAND BACK AND LET IT HAPPEN?_

“You obviously didn’t know how to handle it, did you?” he bit out instead. “And Unicorn hair or no Unicorn hair, we’re leaving _now_!” He wasn’t going to endure more of this. He wasn’t going to let her risk their lives for something as stupid as a school assignment.

She only nodded, as he let her go. He turned away from her and had already begun walking when she let out a sound of surprise. He looked at her as she bent and carefully pulled something from the bushes. It was a few silvery, shining strands of hair. The girl certainly had good eyes.

The only thing she could never see was reason.

“Come on, then,” he irritably said and walked on.

She hurried to follow.

*****

Draco’s nails were digging into his palms as he watched Hermione carefully stir the potion. He wasn’t still angry—even though he _did_ still have the urge to scowl at her and shake her whenever he thought about what could have happened—mostly, he really, really wanted to kiss her senseless.

They had hurried back to make it in time, and now her hair was in wild disarray, her face was flushed, and her eyes were gleaming. It reminded him of how she had looked, so many times beneath him, and he knew that there was no way he could even go near his bed tonight.

He closed his eyes and willed the effect to go away. They would be done very soon; she was finishing their work even now, and he would be able to go. He might not get any rest, but maybe he’d find a little peace.

He opened his eyes again and found himself looking straight into hers. A jolt of awareness went through him, and he was unable to hide his reaction from her in time. Her eyes widened slightly, and then she frowned, watching him. He looked away, well aware that his cheeks had turned pink.

“Are we done here, then?” he asked.

She didn’t reply, and eventually he had to look back at her. She was still watching him.

 _Let it go_ , he wanted to say, but he was afraid to acknowledge his reaction with words.

“What’s going on?” she asked. He opened his mouth to reply, but she interrupted him. “And if you lie to me again, I will personally make sure that you won’t sleep with _anyone_ for the next decade without severe pain!”

Now that was a threat to be reckoned with.

“I just want to get out of here,” he said. “Is that too much to ask?”

Her lips parted slightly and his eyes immediately flew to them. They were full and pink, and he vividly remembered their softness… Her tongue darted out to wet them, and he almost moaned.

“Stop evading,” she slowly said. “I know that look. You want me.”

_So damn much._

“So?” he hoarsely replied. “It’s been a few days…” _Weeks. Months._

She tilted her head slightly, looking at him, allowing him a nice view of her lovely neck and the delightful spot that had sent her over the edge more than once. 

He really needed to get out of there, but he was standing as if rooted, imagining all the things he wanted to do to her, all the things he wanted her to do to him.

He could only deny himself so much, and just looking at her gave him great pleasure. He shouldn’t have come here tonight when he hadn’t had release in far too long. His guilt, his heartache, and his worry had put a severe dampener on his drive, and he simply hadn’t thought that it would make a difference. Now he knew that it made every difference.

Their little foray into the forest didn’t help either. The fear, the adrenaline, and the overwhelming urge to protect her was intensifying everything he felt. He wanted to possess her, to make sure she never did anything that foolish again. He wanted to touch her. He wanted so many things.

Fortunately, she couldn’t possibly want anything to do with him.

She took her wand from the table and walked closer to him, probably in order to tell him to forget it, that he’d never have her again. The thought hurt a little, but right now he was too busy enjoying the vision of her to really care.

After all, looking never harmed anyone.

“Why have you been such a git if you want me?” she asked.

His thoughts were slightly muddled. She was close enough that he could catch her scent, the very same scent that had once clung to his pillow every morning after she’d left.

“I don’t want you,” he lied. “Can’t a boy get a little randy without you taking it personal?”

Her gaze travelled downwards and he fought an urge to moan. The way he was reacting, it might as well have been her hands. The thought of her hands on him made him squeeze his eyes shut for a second to regain control. He shifted uncomfortably, but knew it was pointless to try and hide the obvious.

“It doesn’t look like a little to me,” she observed. “And you forget that I used to sleep with you. You look much as you did while under the sensitivity curse.”

He trembled at the memories she called forth. As if he could ever forget that they used to sleep together.

“Is there a point with this, Granger?” he forced out. “Because I’ve got places to be, people to fuck…”

That made her glare at him. 

“You disgust me!” she growled.

He winced slightly. He didn’t like making her resent him, but the alternative was too much to contemplate.

_There is one way…_

She was tapping her chin with her wand, looking at him thoughtfully. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He just needed to look at her for a few more seconds…

“I think you’re full of it,” she finally said. “And I can prove it.”

_Oh, Merlin, please don’t._

“Not a chance, Granger,” he said, willing his feet to move and take him away from there. He had half-turned, when she slid her wand down to her neckline and down her robe, leaving a clean cut in it as she slowly moved her wand lower.

He couldn’t not stop and stare, as her creamy flesh was slowly revealed.

When the cut went beneath her breasts, she pushed the fabric aside, making him clearly see one perfectly rounded breast, cupped in coppery silk. He began salivating at the thought of what he’d like to do with that breast, and he had to swallow hard.

Why did she have to wear that thing today? Had she thought that something might happen, or was she always wearing sexy underwear now?

Neither thought did much to ease his discomfort.

“Tease…” he whispered.

“Are you ready to be honest yet?” she coolly replied.

Was she really unaffected? The thought fed his frustration. He needed her so bad and suffered so much; the least she could do was need him, too!

He was vaguely aware that he wasn’t making any sense.

“Hey,” he forced himself to say, cursing this whole situation. “If I had known that you wouldn’t care how many other girls I fucked…”

She took a step closer and slapped him so hard that his head whipped to the side, his ears were ringing, and his vision swam.

“I care,” she said in a shaky voice, looking at him with what seemed to be equal parts hurt, anger and desire.

He lost the battle.

He grabbed her and pulled her close, praying for just a taste before she pushed him away. Just one taste. 

His lips covered hers, and he didn’t care if she questioned the lack of violence in the kiss. He didn’t care if she guessed everything. He just wanted one kiss, and then… then he’d do what he had to do.

She softened in his arms and returned the kiss, taking him completely by surprise, her tongue flipping out and teasing the tip of his tongue.

His need reached unknown proportions. He had to have her. If he could have her just one more time… 

_I love her so much._

“I love you…” he heard himself whisper.

She stiffened and pulled back and the horror of what he’d let slip, struck him.

_She wasn’t supposed to know!_

_Guess there’s no turning back now…_

_I don’t want to do it._

_You have to. For her._

_She won’t thank me._

_It won’t matter. You won’t be there for her to thank._

“W-what?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, reaching for her again. She evaded him.

“Did you mean it?” she asked.

_You have no idea._

“You can’t hold me responsible for what I say when I’m this randy,” he hedged.

_Maybe I can still get around this._

“Tell me the truth, and I’ll sleep with you tonight,” she said.

He stared at her. The temptation was overwhelming. More than overwhelming; it was devastating.

“What if the truth is ‘no’?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “Will you still sleep with me, then?”

“Of course,” she replied.

_This is so unlike her. Why would she trade sex like that?_

_Do you care as long as you can have her?_

_Yes… no… I don’t know… I just want her._

_And once you do what you already know you have to – it won’t matter anymore if she knows._

“Well?” she asked, moving her wand, cutting her robes to her navel, revealing so much of her lovely body.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, damn it! I do love you.”

She stopped and stared at him, her eyes big and shocked.

He glanced at her nervously. Was this a turnoff? Should he have lied? He swallowed again.

“You aren’t going to go back on your word, are you?” he asked. “You promised…”

_Just let me kiss you again. It will be enough; it will be worth it._

“N-no,” she said, visibly shaken. “I just never thought that you’d… even if you did… I thought that you’d say no.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It doesn’t change anything. It can only be tonight.”

“But if you do, then why did you—”

He cut in impatiently. “I don’t want to talk about it, ok? It didn’t work, did it? I’m still here, wanting you… I fail.”

“Do you want to know how _I_ really feel?” she softly asked.

“NO!” his response was quick and forceful and she looked taken aback. “I-I don’t want to know, either way. Please don’t tell me.”

If she didn’t love him, it would shatter all of his fantasies for another world, another reality, where they could live happily ever after. If she did love him, it would hurt him too damn much to know what he had to do after tonight. No, he really didn’t want to know.

He pulled her close again and recaptured her lips in a heartfelt kiss. There were no more pretenses; she knew he wanted her – that he loved her, even.

“I need you,” he whispered against her soft lips. “So much.”

She didn’t reply, she just tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him closer again, teasing his senses with her scent, and the feel of her body and her lips.

He quickly looked around them. The Potions classroom was hardly the right place to do this. His dormitory was close, but he wasn’t sure he could bear being with her there again. The bedroom in the Room of Requirement had been wrecked by his idiotic self, and her room was unavailable…

It seemed that his room was their only option. He just had to bear it.

“Let’s go outside,” she said, caressing his cheek, having guessed his thoughts. “We have permission and it’s nice and balmy, isn’t it?”

He really didn’t think Slughorn had this in mind when he signed the permission. That almost made it worth it.

He glanced doubtfully at her. “You’ll catch a cold,” he said. “It’s not _that_ warm.”

“You’ll make sure I won’t,” she said. “Besides… Wouldn’t it be nice, under the full moon… by the lake…”

Hermione under him, bathed in moonlight, moaning his name…

They would need something warmer than their normal cloaks to shield them.

“Let me just get my winter cloak,” he said.

*****

They didn’t have as much time as Draco would have liked. The sun would rise in only a few hours. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

“What about here?” Hermione softly asked. 

The grass in this place was soft and inviting, and some bushes were shielding from the view of anyone from the castle. He looked at her and saw her slightly shiver—in spite of her wearing her repaired robes and her cloak—as a wind blew in from the lake. It was probably too cold to do this.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, wrapping his winter cloak around her. “It’s too cold for you.” He wasn’t bothered by the cold himself; he was used to it. He lived in a bloody dungeon for most of the year—she didn’t.

He didn’t understand what she was doing here with him. He had to let her know that she didn’t have to do this. He had to allow her to rethink her decision. He was almost behaving like an idiot Gryffindor, but, for some reason, this was important to him.

She looked at him defiantly. “Then you’ll just have to warm me, won’t you?”

Before he could reply, she had pulled his head down and was kissing him deeply, passionately, making him completely forget time and place, the way only she could.

She broke the kiss a few minutes later. “There,” she said a little breathlessly. “All warmer.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her, and her eyes widened slightly, as she stared at him as if mesmerized.

“What?” he asked.

She merely shook her head and kissed him again, gentler this time.

She was pressed against him, and he reveled at the contact, even though there technically were two sets of robes and three cloaks between them. 

Too much cloth.

He unclasped his cloak and spread it out on the ground, before gently pushing his other cloak off her shoulders as well. He still wasn’t sure that this wouldn’t be too cold for her, so he hesitated at her own cloak. She rolled her eyes at him and unclasped it herself.

“I’m not that delicate,” she pointed out.

No, he supposed that she wasn’t. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to protect her. With his life if he had to.

The thought saddened him. Before he could think too much about it, he pulled her down onto their makeshift bed with him and began undressing her, only leaving her underwear on for now. He was touching every inch of her skin, taking his time.

_Merlin, she’s so beautiful. And tonight she’s mine._

“You’re teasing again, Draco,” she moaned, shivering a little from the cold, and pulling at his robes. He hurriedly pulled them off and covered the two of them with his thick, fur-lined winter cloak.

“I’m not teasing,” he murmured. “I’m savoring.”

“Well, stop savoring,” she demanded, pushing against him. “I want to feel you!”

He chuckled at her impatience, before kissing the top of her breast—just visible above her bra—and sliding one hand down between her legs. She was so moist for him. She always was. He moved her knickers aside and slipped a couple a fingers inside of her, earning him a gasp and a low moan from her. 

Moving his fingers, he slowly let his tongue trace her lower lip and then sucked it into his mouth. He could feel she was rapidly losing control. He let go of her lip and thrust his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the motions of his fingers, and she whimpered.

“Please, Draco…” she pleaded, breaking the kiss. “I can’t hold back.”

“Then don’t,” he rasped, pushing aside her bra and taking a nipple into his mouth, suckling her, making her move restlessly, wanting more.

“I want you inside of me when I come,” she whispered, caressing his back and grabbing hold of his shoulders.

He shuddered, fighting back the need. “That _will_ happen,” he assured her. “But there’s no need to rush, is there? I don’t mind if you have more orgasms, in fact… I insist on it…” 

He stroked her nub with his thumb and she stiffened, moaning his name. If there was anything sexier than Hermione moaning his name and begging him for release, he hadn’t discovered it yet. 

She was intent on resisting, though. He almost smirked. She was fighting a losing battle. He wanted to feel her tighten and convulse again and again…

He slowly moved down her body, kissing, touching and distracting in a way that by the time he had reached her belly, she still hadn’t caught on to his intentions. The musky smell of her arousal was overwhelming his senses, making him almost lose his mind.

The silly girl never let him do this.

He slowly began removing her knickers, kissing her thigh as he was sliding them off her. She obligingly shifted to help him remove them. _Good girl…_

He then resumed his earlier ministrations, making her moan and squirm. It wasn’t until his lips and tongue followed his hand that she caught on and bucked against him.

“No…” she moaned.

“Yes…” he replied. “You trust me, don’t you?”

She looked at him with fevered eyes for what seemed like a long time. Then she nodded.

_You really shouldn’t. I’m going to hurt you yet. But in this you can trust me._

“Then just lay back and enjoy,” he murmured, his breath teasing her, making her tremble, as she reluctantly did as he asked.

He loved the feel, smell and taste of her. He pressed his fingers deep inside of her, pushing the right spot, and applied his tongue. Before many seconds had passed, she tensed, crying out his name, and he felt her muscles contract around his fingers.

It felt amazing when she came. He fought hard not to lose control himself, making a strangled sound as a feeling of ecstasy swept him.

He could do this to her. He could make her so wild for him that she lost all thought for anything but the blinding pleasure. Even the first time they had been together, she had given herself fully to the sensations. 

He didn’t attribute this to any great skill of his own. He’d _been_ with other girls and they had required considerably more effort. No, this girl was special in so many ways.

He hated that he had to give her up, but took a small comfort in knowing that the pain of it wouldn’t be there for long.

He laid down next to her and pulled his cloak tighter around them so she wouldn’t feel cold now that her first rush of passion was over.

She snuggled closer to him, and he just held her.

“That was silly of you,” she muttered. “It’s really, really late and now I’ll just get sleepy.” She yawned as if to make her point.

“Then sleep,” he said, realizing that he didn’t mind in the least if she did, in spite of his almost painful erection. Of course he wanted to take her, to come inside of her, but he wanted to just hold her just as badly.

“You promised me you’d take me,” she said, glaring at him accusingly.

He took her hand and led it down his body so she could feel her effect on him. “Any time you’re ready, sweetheart. But we have…” He looked at the sky. “At least a couple hours yet.”

“It has to end when the sun rises?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, unable to look at her. “It does…”

_Why am I being honest? It’s not like I won’t have to do it for sure. It doesn’t matter what I say._

“Then I’m not wasting any time sleeping.”

He hugged her closer and kissed her cheek. That wasn’t enough for her. She kissed him deeply, tasting herself on him. She was pressed against him, her breasts flattening against his chest, and her softness was teasing his erection, making him want to just…

“Stop…” he groaned, fighting for control again. “Please,” he held her a little apart from him. “We need to take this more slowly.”

“Why?” she asked. “I thought you liked it hard and fast.” She nibbled at his neck and everything went black for just a second. She would make him come with her teasing soon if he didn’t stop her.

“I love it any way I can get it when it’s with you,” he said, making her blush a little. “But I had hoped to last a little longer than three thrusts…”

She bit her lip, eyeing him as if she were starving and he were a feast. She did it on purpose, he knew. She loved to make him lose himself in her. There was no greater pleasure for her than when he couldn’t hold back. He knew the feeling. Any other time, he might have let her have her way, but it was just too damn important tonight.

“Please let me do this right, Hermione…” he said, gently nibbling at her neck and stroking her arm. “I won’t have another chance.”

_Still with the honesty…_

_I can’t lie to her._

“You’ll have as many chances as you want,” she breathed, sending a stab of pain through him.

_Another reason why I need to do what I need to do. She won’t turn me away. She’ll be better off without me, I know it._

Instead of replying, he kissed her again and caressed her breast, slightly pinching her nipple to make it pucker. Such a lovely, responsive body… He removed her bra, which was still caught under her breasts.

She let her hands slide down to his waistband, but he stopped her.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “You don’t get to decide everything, Draco,” she said, before pulling down.

He gasped as he sprang free and the mere brush of her hand almost made him come. He was much too close. He cursed himself for not having the foresight to ease some of the tension earlier.

But he’d never thought he’d end up here. With her.

“I want you inside of me,” she whispered. “Now.”

Who was he to argue? She was already halfway beneath him, and he shifted so he covered her body, and then slowly entered her burning heat. He had to take it slow or he’d burst. She pulled up her knees, making it possible for him to enter to the hilt, and he trembled.

 _I’m going to come_ , he thought. _Our last time together and I’m going to go off like a virgin._

“I can’t hold back anymore,” he groaned. “I-I have to come.”

“I know,” she replied. “I want you to.”

He shook his head. “This is not how I—”

She pulled his head down and kissed him. “You’re sixteen, not a hundred and ten,” she whispered. “You’ll make it up to me.”

He grunted a reply. He would have to. He couldn’t stay still anymore, and he knew that as soon as he moved, he would go over the edge. 

He moved.

“Merlin, I love you!” he exclaimed just before everything disappeared in a burst of intense pleasure.

If anyone would have told him a year ago that sex could be worth dying for, he would have laughed at them. If they would have told him that love could be worth dying for, he would have laughed even harder. If they would have told him that making love to the girl you love would be the most incredible thing he could ever hope to experience, he would have told them to get lost.

Now, he was fighting to catch his breath after spending himself inside of Hermione, and he knew that a year ago he had been an idiot.

Hermione was stroking his hair and his back and smiling lazily at him. Her face flushed and her eyes gleaming wickedly at him, she looked like a cat who had just gotten away with eating a whole bowl of cream.

“I don’t get why _you’re_ so pleased,” he mumbled, a little amused, as he was moving his weight from her.

“I can’t tell you why,” she replied. “Other than I love watching you come.”

“Just give me a minute and you’ll get an encore.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ll come again in _one_ minute?” she asked. “That would have to be a world record.”

He scowled at her without any heat, and she laughed at him.

 _She seems happy_ , he thought with some surprise.

“All right, then,” he said, after he had gotten his breath back. “Let’s see about making it up to you…”

He pulled her atop him, savoring the pressure of her body on his and the amount of skin against skin. He began nibbling at her swollen, tasty, all together kissable, lips. She sighed with contentment and returned his kisses, deliberately squirming against him, getting him hard in no time.

“Look at that,” she teased. “And I think we have fifteen seconds to spare…”

“Witch,” he muttered, rolling them over, pressing against her, and making her gasp.

“I’m glad you continue to acknowledge that,” she said.

_How can I not?_

Again, he slid his hand down, but she pushed it away, denying him. “Oh, no, you don’t!”

“Well, how can I be sure that you’re ready for me, then?” he teased.

She placed his hand on her breast instead, effectively distracting him. “Just assume that I am.”

He smirked. “I would never presume to make assumptions…”

She pushed him back onto his back and swiftly impaled herself, completely taking him by surprise. His eyes bulged and he moaned at the contact with the searing heat that had made him come so recently. She had never actually taken control like this before, and he found that he rather liked it.

She began moving slowly, experimenting, and his eyes drifted shut. She knew just how to drive him crazy.

“Do you like it?” she asked, ending her question on a moan as she seemed to rub a particularly pleasant spot.

“Oh, yes,” he rasped, opening his eyes to watch her.

She was atop him, the moon bright behind her, flooding them with its light. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were closed as she moved. She seemed completely oblivious to his presence in this moment, and he realized that he didn’t mind even if she was simply using him for her pleasure.

Funny, he never figured that he’d take well to being used by anyone for anything—not unless he was using them too. He wasn’t using Hermione. The sex was just the only way he knew to get the intimacy with her that he craved.

She opened her eyes and smirked at him as she quickened her pace, placing her hands on his chest for support. Since when had she taken to smirking, anyway? His breath was coming faster and shallower, but he let her set the pace and just ran his hands up her thighs to rest at her waist.

Suddenly, she stopped. 

He was about to object when she pushed down a little lower, making him enter her more completely. He sucked in his breath. Merlin, she was so hot and tight. Being inside of her was like nothing else. He lifted his hand to fondle her breast, when she slowly began moving her hips in a circular motion. He saw stars and moaned loudly. He noticed that her smirk had widened.

“Stop teasing, Hermione,” he said.

“I’m not teasing; I’m savoring,” she quipped. 

He raised an eyebrow. Using his own words against him, was she? “Well, stop savoring!”

She slowly moved up, driving him out of his mind, before she stopped and then quickly impaled herself completely again. She made a sexy little sound, and Draco had had it with the teasing and flipped her over.

“Hey!” she halfheartedly objected, giggling a little, but it turned into a gasp and a moan when he thrust forcefully into her.

“I want to feel you…” he whispered into her ear.

He thrust again, and again, and all playfulness drained from her face, leaving nothing but passion. He loved that look on her. He could feel her tensing, reaching, and knew that she was close. She would come again. He caught her lips and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth, and then she moaned loudly against him and gripped him tight, lost in her climax.

He was really close himself, but he held back, continuing to move inside her, prolonging her orgasm.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Draco felt the shock of the words to his very core, but he couldn’t process them; he just felt his control slip and another taste of ecstasy, as he had to surrender to his own climax.

They had barely gotten their breaths back before he asked “Did you mean that?”

She was still flushed from their lovemaking, but her cheeks turned a deeper red.

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“That was before you went ahead and said it anyway.”

“I-I didn’t mean to… You can’t hold me responsible for what I say when I’m—”

“Hermione!”

“Ok, ok…” She looked away and then sighed and shrugged. “Yes.”

He stared at her. He was ecstatic and devastated all at once.

_She loves me? Why? What good have I ever done to her?_

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. Her cheeks were ablaze, and she didn’t seem to be able to look at him. He realized that he wasn’t acting very encouraging. But what was there to encourage? She _shouldn’t_ fall in love with him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing almost immediately that that was the wrong thing to say.

Her eyes filled with tears and she pushed him away. 

“I didn’t ask for your pity!” she said in a trembling voice.

“No, that’s not—I meant, I’m sorry for how things are,” he said, trying to explain. “I’m sorry that I’m hurting you. I’m sorry that I’m not a better person to love.”

_I’m sorry that we can still never be together, and that I have to lie to you and betray you._

“But are you sorry that I love you?” she asked, her voice more steady.

“No…” He pulled her closer. “No,” he repeated. “I’m rather happy about that.”

He kissed her, and, for a while, nothing else seemed important.

*****

The sun rose much too soon and they began dressing in silence. Eventually, there was no evidence left of their meeting other than an imprint on the grass where their bed had been. Draco was staring at it for a second, unable to allow himself to think too much.

“You know, Draco…” Hermione said, breaking the silence. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

_I can answer anything to that and it won’t matter. I can hurt her or make her happy._

“Everything will be fine,” he said, offering a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

His own words stabbed at him and he couldn’t look at her; instead he carefully folded his spare cloak. 

It had been very selfish and weak of him to even allow this night, but he couldn’t feel sorry about it. It had given him something that he would otherwise never have had. 

He didn’t have to hurt her with words anymore as long as he convinced her that it was better for her to keep a distance until he was ready to do what he had to do. It was a cruel and heartless betrayal, but one that wouldn’t hurt either of them for long.

“What now, then?” she asked, frowning slightly. “We go back to the way things were?”

“Pretty much,” he confirmed. “Nobody can know.” She looked at him and he added, “Not yet. Soon.”

_I hate lying to her, but I seem to do little else. I’m sure she doesn’t really love me, she just thinks she does. She thinks that I’m a better person. She’ll learn, soon enough._

She nodded, and a few minutes later, she made her way back alone.

The night was over, and with the harsh light of day came the reality crashing back.

*****

Before going back to his dormitory, Draco made a detour to the Potions room to make sure they had everything cleaned up properly—and to break into Slughorn’s personal stock. He knew _it_ was there. He had seen it.

It was, of course, a potion much too dangerous to leave lying around for the students to accidentally get their hands on, so it was locked away with the other potions and ingredients deemed unsafe. Draco had watched the fat teacher carelessly charm the cabinet, and he knew how to get past it without triggering any alarms.

A few minutes later, he was holding the vial of the dark golden liquid. 

Looking back into the cabinet, he knew it would be too obvious if it was the only thing missing, so he carefully put it aside and then smashed the entire row of containers. This was much better. They would believe it to be nothing but vandalism, and they’d never figure out what he’d taken.

His eyes fell on a vial on another shelf. The antidote. He’d almost forgotten. He reached up and grabbed it, looked at it for a second, and then he smashed that too.

Now everything was set.


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione had no idea how she should feel. This, in itself, was not really something new, as her relationship with Draco frequently threw her and turned everything she thought she knew upside down.

But no matter how she _should_ feel, she felt remarkably happy. Ecstatic even.

He had said he loved her.

She didn’t quite understand everything he had done to push her away over the months, but that didn’t matter much now. All that was about to end. Everything that had seemed so dire and important before was now fading in the light of their love.

_Love._

Could it really be? She wasn’t deluding herself, was she? She hadn’t fallen asleep and was dreaming up this whole thing? She pinched herself. _Ow._ No, she was awake, and he had truly said the words and assured her that everything would be ok, they would be together.

Of course, she knew it wouldn’t be easy for him to date a Muggle-born, with his parents and his House and everything, but somehow everything would work out now. It had to. She couldn’t bear the thought of some stupid prejudices keeping them apart. Not again. 

She refused to believe that the danger was as great as Draco had always claimed. It had just been another way for him to push her away. If there _was_ any danger, then it could be overcome by contacting the Order—easy as that! If the Order would accept someone as horrible as Snape, then surely a repentant Malfoy or two wouldn’t make people as much as raise an eyebrow.

She wouldn’t acknowledge any obstacles. She wanted happily ever after.

_Forever?_

Well, nobody could guarantee that, could they? Her logic told her that they were both still very young and statistically, they were both bound to date several more people before settling down. Her heart didn’t seem to care about the statistics, though. It wanted to conquer all odds and be with _him_ and nobody else. Who cared about the future; it was the now she had to live in.

And he wanted to be with her too. Right here, right now.

Hermione’s heart skipped every time she thought of that.

She hadn’t meant to do what she had done. She supposed it was true what they said about full moons making everyone a little crazy. She had felt the old attraction to him, but he had been so cold, distant and annoying, and she had assumed that he truly was over her. It had sobered her and made her focus on the task at hand until she had looked up and caught him gazing at her like that. He had looked at her with such a pained yearning that it had stolen her breath and her good sense away.

Of course he had tried to deny it. Tried to get away from her. So she had captivated him the only way she knew how—with her body.

And it had worked. Merlin, had it worked.

He loved her.

He obviously had never meant to say the words for whatever foolish reasons he had for trying to resist. He had meant to go on pretending that he didn’t care about her, allowing both their hearts to break in the process.

_I’ll have to punish him for that._

Hermione smiled. Yes, she definitely had to punish him for trying to deny them both. What possible reasons could he have that were good enough? None that she could think of. No, he’d had some stupid idea about what would work and what wouldn’t work, and he had tried pushing her away, enforcing his idea that their relationship wouldn’t work. Well, he was wrong!

_Yeah? And what about punishing him for the fact that he slept with Marilyn Shaw?_

The familiar pain twisted her insides and her smile faded. She was fairly certain that it had been another stupid and desperate scheme of his to push her away. It did hurt, and she did hate that he would even do this to her, but she wasn’t going to allow it to break them apart. She wasn’t going to give up on them. Not this time.

_And if he does it again?_

If he did it again… Then he couldn’t really love her, could he? If he did it again, he’d prove that he was incapable of staying faithful and staying in a meaningful relationship. But he wouldn’t do it again. She was sure of that. Wasn’t she? 

She tamped down her insecurities. It wasn’t that she was going to forget this easily, but she had already decided to forgive, and she refused to let it bother her more than was necessary. It _was_ necessary to remind herself that she wouldn’t tolerate any more infidelity, but it _wasn’t_ necessary to become bitter and suspicious and start chasing shadows.

He had made a mistake. A big mistake, yes, but nevertheless just a mistake.

When she’d asked him about it, when they were just lying together at the lake, he’d tried to avoid her questions, but ultimately he had admitted to feeling horrible ever since it had happened. He had admitted that he’d felt it to be a betrayal too, in spite of trying to convince himself at the time that it didn’t matter because they weren’t really together. He’d said he didn’t feel like he could make any excuses for it, but he’d been lonely and miserable, and Shaw had come on to him when he was feeling particularly vulnerable. He’d said that he’d never done anything that he regretted more.

That helped a tiny bit.

She knew intellectually, of course, that sex wasn’t always as intimate and fulfilling as when she and Draco did it. Yet… she had no basis for comparison, did she? In fact, he’d had three times the partners that she had. He had grudgingly admitted that he’d only slept with Pansy a couple of times and not since meeting Hermione, and that he had only been with Shaw that one time. He’d said that they didn’t compare, that nothing was like being with her, but still…

No, this was pointless. She believed him when he said he loved her. Merlin knew, he’d lied to her often enough and she had learned to tell the difference. He had been so sincere, so vulnerable, so sad…

_Why does loving me make him sad?_

Because he didn’t believe in them. She had clearly seen what he hadn’t tried very hard to hide even as he reassured her. He didn’t believe that they would make it against all odds. He didn’t truly believe that they could be together.

Well, she’d show him!

*****

“All right, class, let me see what you have to show for it!” Slughorn said, and then began making his way around the room.

It was the second Monday after the full moon, they had Potions again, and Hermione was _not_ happy. Their project was going very well, to be sure, and they virtually had nothing to do but stir at it every few days, but Hermione’s dissatisfaction was not academic.

It was Draco.

He had not tried to get her alone again, not once. He hadn’t smiled at her or talked to her… He barely even looked at her!

She was fairly certain that that wasn’t how he was supposed to act—even if they _were_ still keeping things secret. He had never wanted to keep a distance like this before! Something was going on that he wasn’t telling her about.

“And you two?” Slughorn asked, surveying the hate potion, which by now mostly resembled something that someone had already partially digested once. It smelled a little that way too. “Ahh, very good, very good. Yes, the color is just right.” He looked at Draco, who was sitting with his head in his hands, his bored gaze fixed on the cauldron. “Perhaps, since this potion requires timing more than labor, you can use your free time in class to write me an essay on the properties of the ingredients and the potion itself, yes?” He made his way to the next pair.

“Bloody brilliant,” Draco grumbled, getting out parchment and quills. “ _We_ get to do _extra_ work.”

“Well.” Hermione’s patience was wearing thin. “Maybe if you had looked less like you were in a coma and more like there was an actual _use_ for you, then we wouldn’t have to.”

He looked taken aback, but then it was as if understanding dawned on him, and he held his tongue. Hermione knew what conclusion he had drawn and it annoyed her even more. Why was _that_ always the first conclusion that boys drew? It wasn’t as if she was _only_ annoyed with him at that time of the month! Far from it! And it _wasn’t_ that time! She felt like growling at him, but what was the point? She wouldn’t get anything useful from him while anybody else was around.

Instead, she wrote the title of her essay in her neat handwriting, and glanced covertly at him again. He was scowling at his parchment. Really, sometimes he was just impossible.

“The properties of aconite…” Hermione mused aloud, hoping to get him started.

“Also known as Dumbledore’s Delight, monkshood or wolfsbane—not to be confused with the potion of the same name. Highly poisonous. Has been known to cure aches, which is kind of ironic if you think about it…” Draco’s expression hadn’t changed in the least and he didn’t seem more than slightly aware of what he’d said.

Hermione gaped. “Very good!” she exclaimed, getting a somewhat confused and annoyed look from Draco.

“I do know things, Granger,” he said after a few seconds. “I’m just not a bloody know-it-all like you.”

She frowned. What was this all about? Why was he acting as if… As if…

_As if they hadn’t made love under a full moon._

“Right,” was all she said, glad that her voice remained steady. “Sorry.”

She turned back to her parchment, blindly staring at it. Hadn’t he meant what he’d said that night? Had he just been playing with her? Did he enjoy hurting her? Was it possible that she had misunderstood everything that they had together? After all, it wasn’t as if she had a lot of experience with boys. Perhaps all sex really was like what they were doing. Or, maybe…

She felt him touch her arm, but didn’t look up. He probably needed help with his essay. Well, he could write his own damn essay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You know I don’t mean it.”

She ventured a glance at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. No, God forbid that anybody might catch him looking at her and actually talking to her civilly. After all, he’d only told her he loved her a week and a half ago.

_You’re overreacting._

Perhaps she was, but she was sick of the hiding and the lying and the pretending. She just wished that Draco would show some backbone in this matter.

_And what if people might really get killed if he did?_

She ignored that thought and began writing her essay instead. No matter what, she would still have to hand this in.

“Why haven’t you tried to see me?” she asked a little later in a calm and steady voice.

He jerked and quickly glanced around the room. “Merlin, Granger. Not here!”

She didn’t look up. She knew nobody was within earshot. “The only thing people might notice is you being skittish and _acting_ as if something is out of the ordinary.”

He blushed. Hermione looked over at Harry, who had indeed seen and was raising an eyebrow at her, but she simply shook her head, dismissing his questions.

“Look, I’m just not comfortable talking about it here,” Draco said. “Can’t it wait?”

“If you regret what happened by the lake…” Hermione couldn’t keep a slight tremble out of her voice at the last word. “All you had to do was say so. I’d understand.” No, she wouldn’t. But it would have been a lot kinder than leading her on.

“Regret?” he asked incredulously. “Merlin, I don’t—” He broke off and lowered his voice, which had risen. “Hermione, I don’t regret it.”

She glanced at him. He looked sincere. She relaxed a bit.

“I’m just not…” he continued. “You have to give me time to get things sorted. You said that you were good with this. If you aren’t, then I’ll… I’ll understand. I won’t force you to stay with me.” There was a flicker of something in his eyes that Hermione couldn’t clearly decipher. Sadness? _Hope_ , of all things? Something else entirely?

“Of course I’m staying,” she muttered. _I just wish you’d seem happy about that._

“Then please don’t be like this,” he said, looking away. “Soon, none of all this will matter.”

*****

Draco wasn’t the only person who had changed. Ginny, who had been treating Hermione as if she had dragon pox ever since she’d caught her with Draco, was suddenly acting as if nothing had happened. Hermione didn’t know how to react to that.

She’d tried broaching the subject without actually mentioning it, but Ginny had just said ‘ _I don’t really know why I got so mad at you. I’m really sorry. Can’t we just forget it?_ ’ and Hermione had agreed. She didn’t enjoy being at odds with her friend and was glad it was over.

They were having dinner in the Great Hall and Hermione’s eyes kept darting back to the Slytherin table.

_Why is he talking to her?_

Draco was sitting next to Shaw and they seemed to be having an animated discussion, maybe even an argument. For the life of her, Hermione couldn’t figure out what it was that he needed to speak to _her_ about. She didn’t like him being around the girl he’d slept with and who he supposedly didn’t want to sleep with again.

The jealousy was eating away at her and she saw no reason to deny it or even hide it very well.

Draco looked up and caught her eye and he went very still, just looking at her for a second. Then he quickly glanced around and shook his head slightly as if to say that it was nothing.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. _She_ decided when it was something.

Abruptly he stood, and with a final glance at Hermione, he hauled Shaw to her feet and took off with her.

 _What?_ Surely, taking off with Shaw to where she couldn’t see what they were doing wasn’t supposed to help anything?

“They deserve each other,” Ginny said, having followed Hermione’s look.

“W-what?”

“He’s a total git and she’s a total slut. I hope they live unhappily ever after.” Ginny’s voice and eyes held no malice or I-told-you-so; she was just stating what she considered a fact.

Hermione stared at her, feeling rather hurt. What kind of a thing was this to rub in her face when she _knew_?

Ginny, however, just continued eating as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Hermione got up. “I have to go,” she muttered and then she proceeded to her dormitory as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself.

*****

It was exactly two weeks after their little adventure at the lake, when Draco finally sought her out a couple of days later. Hermione was hurt and angry that it had taken him so long to bother. There hadn’t been as much as a touch or a kiss in _two whole weeks_. She should turn him down. She really should.

Yet, when he suggested that she met him outside that afternoon, in a secluded spot just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she found herself accepting.

After all, she could always give him a piece of her mind then. And she did.

“What are you doing with Shaw?” she demanded as soon as she got there.

Draco forgot to look nervous and twitchy long enough to scowl at her. “You know you have no reason to be jealous.”

“Do I, then?” she demanded. “I suppose it’s normal to accept that your—” _boyfriend_? The word stuck in her throat. He still wasn’t really, was he? “—lover is going off with the girl he cheated on you with.”

“I needed to talk to her, ok? And you were giving everything away with the way you were looking at us.”

“Needed to talk to her about what?”

He opened his mouth as if to reply, but there wasn’t a sound. Finally, he said, “I’ll tell you later. But it’s not what you think. Please, can we not fight?”

“Why?” She _wanted_ to fight, damn him.

He smiled cynically. “Because it’s my birthday?”

Hermione gaped at him, all accusations forgotten. “Y-you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“It’s a bit late, isn’t it? I didn’t get you anything.”

“Who needs _things_?” he asked, moving closer to her. “You’re all that I want…”

His words, the way he looked at her… Even if tinged with sadness, it was the old Draco, the one she had fallen so hopelessly in love with. She felt her resolve melting away. She knew there were issues that they had to work at, but they didn’t have to do it right here, right now. It was his birthday and he was spending it with her.

She offered him a shy smile and said, “Happy birthday, Draco,” before pulling his head down for a kiss.

He pulled her closer, enveloping her in his arms. She sighed with contentment at the contact. In spite of just having yelled at him, there was no place she’d rather be. His lips slowly caressed hers. It was a gentle kiss, full of affection rather than passion. It wasn’t anything like his normal kisses, but she liked it a lot. She felt treasured. She felt cared for.

She felt special.

She caressed the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue and he shivered, breaking the kiss, before hesitantly pulling back.

She was a little confused. Why had he broken the kiss when it was just getting nice? Surely he expected more for his birthday than just a chaste kiss and she would be more than happy to oblige.

He pulled out a flask.

“What’s that?” she asked.

His lip twisted. “It’s not pumpkin juice.”

“I didn’t think you drink.”

“I don’t,” he said weighing the flask in his hand. “But a boy’s got to be allowed to do something different for his seventeenth, right?”

She glanced towards the castle. Nobody would see them here. That was the exact reason why he’d chosen this spot for their meeting. They were hidden by a few trees at the top of a slope that went down towards the lake.

He looked at her for a second and then sighed. “Should have known that you’d be the consummate prefect. You’ll probably be Head Girl of the Century next year.”

Hermione was feeling a bit miffed at his unfair characterization of her. “Would the consummate prefect have been fooling around with you all year?”

“Then please share a birthday drink with me?” he asked, offering it to her. 

She accepted the flask and took a big gulp. It was firewhisky as she had suspected and it burned. It also had a slight aftertaste that she couldn’t quite define. She took another swig and had to steady herself with a hand on a tree trunk as the world became unfocused for a second.

“That’s enough, I think,” he said hoarsely, reaching to take the flask from her.

She looked at him, shocked to see pain in his eyes, and jerked the flask out of his reach. Something was off. The world became unfocused again, and she knew that it wasn’t just the firewhisky. She hadn’t reacted like this the last time.

“What did you do to me?” she whispered.

“I-I…” He didn’t seem able to actually reply, and he shook his head. “Nothing, Hermione. It’ll be ok.”

“ _Don’t lie to me!_ ” she shrieked as she was now feeling a little sick and her head had started pounding. “Did you—did you poison me? You did, didn’t you?” Her eyes filled with tears.

His eyes widened. “Merlin, no! I’d never hurt you like that. I’m not a _complete_ …” His voice faltered and he reached for the flask again. Again, she snatched it away from him.

“Then _what_ did you do to me?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m making you forget.”

“ _WHAT?_ ” She stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

He opened his eyes and they were troubled, but conviction shone in them. “I’m making you forget about us.”

“Y-you’re Obliviating me?” After everything that had happened between them? Everything they’d shared?

“It’s not exactly the same,” he explained. His voice was calm and distant. How could he be calm? How could he _do_ this to her? “The Obliviation Spell is more than I dared pull off and it’s designed to cut out chunks of your memory. I couldn’t risk that you forgot about my existence entirely as someone was bound to find that out and cure you. With this potion I could make you forget that we ever—” his voice broke and he cleared his throat “—that you ever slept with me that night and anything to do with our… personal relationship, and still keep day to day memories of me.”

 _What night?_ To her great horror she realized the potion had started working and certain memories were getting harder to conjure. _NO!_

What he was doing to her cut at her and tore her heart in pieces. The tears spilled over and she couldn’t hold back a sob. “S-so you planned this for a long time?” she asked, without needing an answer. “You _knew_ you were going to poison me, violate my memories…” He made a sound of objection, but she ignored it. “And still you kissed me and told me th-that you l-loved me…” She covered her mouth with her hand as she tried to regain some control over her trembling body.

“Hermione, it’s not _like_ that. It wasn’t a lie.” He seemed desperate and frantic. “Please, Hermione, it’s _why_ I have to…”

“ _STOP_ saying my name!” she yelled. “You don’t get to say my name like you care, anymore!” Raw grief had taken over and she could feel nothing but an excruciating pain.

 _He never really loved me. He tricked me. I’m such a fool for thinking that_ he _could ever love_ me. _He still thinks that I’m a Mudblood, that I’m beneath his notice… I’ve been such a fool._

His face became stony. “No, you’re right. I don’t,” he quietly said. “Please give me the potion… Granger.”

She stared at the flask in her hand and realization dawned on her. “You plan on taking it, too, don’t you? You plan on forgetting your Mudblood affair!” Promptly she turned it upside down and started pouring it onto the ground.

“NO!” He lunged for her, but she threw the flask as far as she could, and it tumbled down the slope, spilling its contents. He stared after it, a look of hopelessness on his face as he realized he couldn’t salvage any of it, before he turned to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he choked out. “Do you have any idea what…” Again, his voice broke and he seemed unable to finish. “You’re punishing me for everything by making me remember? Is that it?”

“I loved you!” she said, making him flinch. “And you did this to me. You _RAPED_ my _MIND_!” she pulled free of his grasp and glared at him through her tears.

She briefly considered if there would be an antidote, but she knew there wouldn’t. If there had ever been one, he would have gotten rid of it. He wouldn’t do this without making sure that it was irreversible. That was why he had stayed away for so long. He had been plotting and planning.

“I had to do it,” he said, the remorse plain on his face. “I had no choice. It’s the only way for us to go on the way we have to. We couldn’t have been together, Hermione. It just couldn’t be.”

“Because you are a coward and refused to ever give it a chance!” she railed, her tears refusing to stop pouring. She hated that he saw her weakness, but she supposed it didn’t matter because in a few minutes she’d _forget_.

“That’s not why!” he yelled in frustration. “You don’t understand!”

“Then why don’t you _make_ me understand?”

He pulled up his left sleeve. “Look!”

She looked at his arm and then up again, uncomprehending.

“No, Hermione,” he said. “ _Look!_ ”

She looked again and something flickered. She wiped at her eyes to clear her vision, and then she saw it.

_The Dark Mark._

She gasped and stumbled backwards. “H-how can it be? How long?”

“All year. You’re the only one I’ve had to hide it from, nobody else who’s seen me without my robes minded. In fact, I bet that’s what did it for them. And you… a simple glamour charm was all it took, because you never even suspected.”

She turned away from him and gave in to her nausea. He just stood there, his face turned slightly to the side, looking crushed and bitter. Finally, her stomach was empty, but her body wouldn’t stop jerking and shuddering. She leaned against a tree to compose herself.

He’d been a full-fledged Death Eater all year. All the times they had been together. She had known that he had different views than she, but she had thought him to be basically decent. She had believed she could turn him around. She hadn’t thought him incapable of such cruelty. But then again, hadn’t he proved over and over that he was perfectly capable of being cruel? Hadn’t he been cruel to _her_ time and again?

Still, wasn’t he a bit too young to have gotten the recognition that the Mark was to _his_ kind?

“I knew you’d never accept me when you found out who I was,” he said in a hoarse and strained voice. “We never had a chance.”

“You’re right.” Her voice was trembling and he flinched as if she’d slapped him. “If that _is_ indeed _who_ you are, then we wouldn’t. If your idea of a good time is to murder and rape innocents, then we are incompatible.” She had to focus her thoughts now; they seemed to want to slip every time they turned to him and their relationship.

“He’ll murder me and my family if I don’t do what he says,” he said, sounding as if he was pleading with her to understand. What did it matter? In a few minutes she would forget and she’d never ever know the difference. “In fact, I have virtually no chance of surviving the summer,” he continued. “If I tried to be with you, he’d murder you too.”

“So, you just decided that I couldn’t be allowed to remember you anymore.” Her voice was dull, lifeless.

“Now, if you have to fight me… You can.”

She glared at him. “As if I would _ever_ have fought you! You are a conceited bastard and the most spoiled brat I have had the misfortune to meet, but you’ve always been all bark and no bite.”

“It’s not true, Hermione—” he began, but was cut off.

“Then why not just let him kill me? Or do it yourself?”

“Just because I love _you_ doesn’t mean that I won’t kill others. I will. I have to.”

“The Order will help you. They can protect you. It’s not too late.”

“It _is_ too late. They can’t protect me and they certainly won’t protect my father, even if he wanted them to.”

“Your father is in Azkaban, he hardly needs protection from Voldemort there.”

Draco flinched slightly at the name. “You have no idea how powerful the Dark Lord is, my love.”

_My love._

“I’m obviously not your love,” she whispered. “So don’t call me that.”

He looked disconsolate. “But you _are_. At least, until…” he swallowed and looked away. “Until you forget.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t do this to someone you l-love…” She was having problems holding on to her anger as her heartbreak was taking over again, and more and more memories were slipping from her mind.

Draco didn’t seem like he would reply, but then he said, “Instead of sacrificing your life for our relationship, I sacrificed our relationship for your life. How can you say that I don’t love you?”

“Others know,” she said. “How will you keep Ginny from telling me.”

“It’s already taken care of. I slipped her the potion days ago.”

Days ago. When she’d suddenly become friendly again.

“Shaw—” she began.

“Yesterday. That’s what we were fighting about when you saw us. She didn’t want her mind manipulated any more than you did. In the end she gave in.”

“She gave in or you forced her?” she asked bitterly.

“I forced her to give in,” he said coldly.

“Like you did me?”

“No… I tricked you.”

She slapped him. It was one last desperate effort to hurt him the way he was hurting her. When he recovered, she slapped him again on the other cheek.

He grabbed her and forced a kiss on her. It was violent and bruising and passionate and… exquisite. She clung to him, answering the kiss, tasting tears. His or hers?

_Perhaps I won’t forget. Perhaps if he keeps kissing me like this, it won’t take effect._

It was as if a fog lifted and she gasped, a pair of arms suddenly letting her go.

When she gathered her wits, she frowned and looked around to see Malfoy standing there, his back turned. He was gazing away from her. He seemed to be trembling a bit.

“W-what am I doing here?” she asked him.

“Beats me, Granger,” he said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “But you caught me.”

“Caught you?”

He gestured towards something lying in the grass further down the hill. “Celebrating. Apparently you don’t think a boy should be allowed a drink on his own birthday.” His voice was bitter, as if she had denied him Paradise itself.

He didn’t quite look at her and he looked… sad. No, not sad. Miserable. And lonely. Perhaps there had been more to why he had wanted the drink than what he let on. Why couldn’t she remember?

“Did you hex me, Malfoy?” she asked suspiciously.

He shot her a glance. “Hex you? Now, why would I do that?” he asked.

She sniffed. They both knew perfectly well that if there was any way he could bother her, he would.

He shook his head. “No, no need to hex you. A good push down this slope, on the other hand… you’d break your scrawny neck and nobody would be the wiser.”

His words had no heat and he was surprisingly unconvincing.

“Are you ok?” she softly asked, making him start and glare at her. His eyes were red-rimmed. She wondered what had happened to him.

“I’m fine,” he sneered. “I don’t need some little Mudblood trying to mother me.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Fine, Malfoy, whatever you say,” she said, abandoning being nice to him. “I won’t give you detention since this _is_ your birthday, but at least try and behave.”

She turned her back on him and walked away.

*****

“Where have you been, Hermione?” Harry asked, a little concerned, when she reached the Gryffindor common room. “You just took off.”

Hermione shrugged. “I went for a walk and Malfoy was being a prat as usual. I swear, one of these days his attitude will backfire.”

“I’d be careful of him, Hermione. His actions are very suspicious lately; we don’t know exactly what he’s up to and why. You can’t be _sure_ that he’s not a Death Eater.”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think he is. We don’t know everything there is to know about him, Harry. Even he has his own problems.”

She couldn’t shake the image of how unhappy he’d looked as she had left him behind.


End file.
